The Lost Angel: Part 2
by Kathoran
Summary: Katie Rogers, the Angel of Death, has been through Hell and back. She's lost everything: her family, her friends, her freedom—but there's still one thing she knows, and it is that she has to find James and bring him back, no matter what it takes. But her friends have betrayed her. Hydra has awoken. She is powerless and alone—and the Winter Soldier is coming. *Revised*
1. Chapter 1

I shivered, tucking my chin into my scarf. "W-why exactly are we in Russia?" I asked, glancing around blearily at the snow that swirled around me and did its best to get into every crevice of clothing it could. "I've spent enough of my life here to never want to hear the word again," I muttered in Russian.

"What was that?" Coulson asked, glancing over at me.

"Nothing."

Someone bumped into me, almost sending me sprawling, and apologized in rapid-fire Russian, helping me up,before disappearing into the snow again. I turned back to Coulson, who hadn't seemed to notice the exchange at all.

"We're here because we have to be, not because we want to be," he reminded me. "The sooner we get what we get what we need, the sooner we can leave."

"S-sir, what exactly do we n-need?" I snapped, rubbing my gloved hands together and yanking my scarf up to cover my nose and mouth to keep my teeth from chattering. Even with my increased metabolism, I was still freezing.

"We've received news that a well-known assassin has popped up on the radar recently," he commented nonchalantly, turning in a slow circle as if examining the rooftops around us—something that might have been convincing had he been able to see more than three feet in front of his face. "They think he's holing up in this general area."

"R-really?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow and glancing around as well. "Why wasn't I m-made aware of this b-b-before we got out here?"

"Because I know what you would have been thinking," he shot back, turning to stare at me, daring me to contradict him again. I was never one to back down from a threat: I had grown up with Steve 'Pick-a-fight-with-everything-that-moves' Rogers, for crying out loud. "And I wanted you to keep your head on straight."

"Sir," I ground out, growing increasingly more frustrated and nervous. I didn't know for sure why we were here or what assassin we were here because of, but I knew from experience that assassins didn't just pop up on the radar. We either kept our heads down or jumped out of the shadows with the sole purpose of dragging someone back into them with us. I had managed to keep my head down for more than two decades before reappearing to try and save Tony, and I was rusty.

"Agent," he stepped closer, shielding me from a bit of the wind to speak to me. "This is not your call. This is mine."

"And I'm not your agent," I bit back, scowling. "I'm a ninety-year-old Russian-American assassin. I know how we think," I informed him, wincing slightly to put myself in the same category as all the other assassins in the world but knowing that I had no room to be all 'high and mighty,' not after what I'd done. "I also know that standing in the middle of the street is a stupid thing to do when an assassin's after you."

He gave me a strange look. "Why would you assume…" he shook his head. "We'll finish this discussion later. Come on."

He took off, leaving me no choice but to follow, albeit grudgingly. I popped my knuckles and shook out my hands, outwardly cursing the cold but inwardly relishing in it. I had spent two decades in Canada, so I wasn't quite as bitter about the cold as Coulson—and anyone listening in—was going to believe. I wasn't comfortable, per say, since I usually spent my days at home curled up in front of a fire, but I still wasn't as inept as I was leading Coulson to believe.

We ended up walking all the way to the safe house, something I intended to rag Coulson about later, and sat up until three in the morning waiting for our apparent contacts who—surprise, surprise—didn't show. Well, one of them showed: a shifty looking man who sounding half drunk when he walked through the door. The other did not. Coulson actually had the nerve to interrogate the man before us, as if he didn't know that our contact had either been killed or captured by the man we'd been sent to… what had we been sent to do with him?

"Coulson?" I asked suddenly, glancing up from a knot in the wood of the floor. Our safe house at least was nice, unlike other safe houses I could name.

"A little busy, Agent," he snapped.

I rolled my eyes and stood up, crossing my arms over my chest. "Oh, yeah, okay." I cocked my hip and rested my still-gloved hand against it, looking down at the man who was slumped against the wall, watching us with half-lidded eyes. I, with my enhanced hearing, could hear his heartbeat: it was strong and steady, beating much quicker than that of a half-conscious drunk should have been. I didn't mention this, though. I had a feeling this man was bugged, and if he was, I'd use it to my advantage. "What do you think he can give us, Sir?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow. "He's barely awake."

Coulson was about to blow a gasket. "Agent," he ground out, narrowing his eyes. "Stand down."

"Fine," I replied, reaching down and pulling on my discarded parka, pulling my hair back under the hood. "I'll be outside."

"Agent!" Coulson called angrily, but I ignored him, entering the hallway and shutting the door firmly behind me. My palms were sweating. I had learned a few things from listening to Coulson and the not-actually-drunk contact: the assassin we were after was something of a legend. No one really knew who he was or where he came from, but they had 'heard' that he was after someone, which is why they'd called in Shield. I'd be willing to bet most of what I'd ever owned that the assassin had set up the rumors himself.

I stepped out onto the street, biting back a curse when the wind cut through my multiple layers. Okay, so maybe I didn't like the cold. Sue me. I glanced back at the building I'd come out of, frowning. It was much too obvious that we'd been there—we'd walked there, for crying out loud—the assassin could easily have tracked us, and it wasn't as if we'd gone in multiple groups. He would have had only one group to follow…

I swore again, stiffening. Coulson wasn't stupid. He knew we were going to be followed, assuming as I did that the assassin knew we were coming. He also knew that I was easily the most brash of all his agents, including Skye. He brought me on purpose. He let me leave the room: he easily could have taken me out himself, put me in my place, but he hadn't. Why?

My answer came a moment later when a bullet hit me in the chest. The force sent me sprawling back into the snow, but the pain didn't start right away. I stared blankly at the overcast, orange tinted sky above me, my mind whirring wildly. Coulson was using me as bait because he thought that he was the target. He wanted the assassin to see me and then come after him.

He hadn't realized that Hydra was after me.

I tried to roll over, crying out as the pain started, spreading out from my chest and burning terribly. I screamed, biting down on my scarf as tears dropped down my cheeks and froze there.

It was them, wasn't it? In my state, I couldn't think of anyone else who would be after me.

I managed to roll onto my front, staring down at the icy carpet that was beginning to spin beneath me. I looked up, gasping for breath. A dark figure was walking towards me.

I began to pull myself forward, clawing at the snow and ice beneath me, biting down hard on my scarf; my breath created mist, which froze on the fabric and on my lips. I couldn't breathe. I could feel warmth spreading out from where I'd been shot: blood soaking through my jacket and sweater and staining my skin. Snowflakes landed on my lashes, making it harder to see. I regretted rolling over onto my stomach—the added pressure of my organs and bones from my back was making it much harder to breathe.

A foot on my back stopped me from moving and sent my face into the snow. I screamed, digging my fingers into the ice, crying out for him to please, stop it, please! He moved his foot, and a moment later he used it to roll me over onto my back again. I gasped, coughing up blood, choking on it. I couldn't breathe. My eyelids fluttered wildly, but through the snow and the blood I could make out two figures standing above me.

"Take her," the shorter commanded, his voice almost lost on the wind. I passed out before I could hear the taller's response.

~8~

I woke up tied to a chair. I had been stripped down to my pants and tank top, which now was stained crimson. I looked down, my head lolling. Bandages were wrapped around my chest, hiding the bullet wound from view.

My wrists were cuffed behind my back and to the chair, which wouldn't have been problem if there hadn't been at least a dozen sets of cuffs woven together to keep me from breaking free. My legs were also bound: each ankle was cuffed to the chair, which was bolted to the ground. Ropes wrapped around my middle, holding me in place, and I was gagged. Props to whoever had captured me that they hadn't used duct tape: people who used it were amateurs. I'd prefer them to the real thing, though—it was much easier to escape.

It took me a moment to figure out why I had woken up, but then my drowsy mind registered the dripping, and I realized that someone had thrown a bucket of water on me, jolting me awake and soaking me to the bone with freezing snowmelt.

Someone spoke from behind me. "Ah, you're awake. Good."

Another person, who had been steadily moving around my chair, struck me across the face with so much force that my head whipped to the side and I felt my neck crack. I grunted, breathing heavily, and glared up at the man above me. My lip had split from the force of the blow, and the knapsack material over my mouth rubbed painfully against the cut. My bullet wound throbbed, and fresh blood stained the bandage.

"You're a smart woman, Katherine Rogers," the man continued. My heart stuttered, and I choked, stiffening. The man laughed. "My dear, you really think that you could fool us by running around and playing soldier with some Shield agents?" Yes. "Secretary Pierce may have been tricked by your performance, but we were not. We trained you, after all."

My heart was pounding painfully in my chest, and I craned my neck to try and catch a glimpse of the man behind me. I couldn't make out the person in front of me because of the bright lights, but I assumed that he was just the muscle. Who was this person? Someone related to the Red Room? Someone else?

"You don't remember, do you?" The man asked, seeing my confusion. "Pity. Unfortunately, I do not have the time to indulge your desire to know your past. Another time, perhaps. Now, however, you will give me what I wish to know. You see…" the man started to move, and the soldier in front of me grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerking my head around to face the front. His shadowed companion—there were three men in the room total, two soldiers and their leader—watched silently from behind the blazing lights: I could faintly see his stoic outline in front of the wall. "Your position within Shield, though useless for you, has given us a distinct advantage. We need information, and you have it."

I glared at the figure holding me, unable to say anything through the moist gag.

"Take the gag off her."

The soldier complied, and I spat on the ground, ridding my mouth of blood.

"You really think I'd give you anything?" I chuckled, rolling my head back and feeling my neck pop.

"I do."

"Than you're stupider than you sound," I decided, crying out when the soldier slammed his fist into the side of my face, snapping my head around. I was pretty sure he'd cracked my cheekbone. I spat out another mouthful of blood and glared up at the man before me even though one of my eyes was rapidly swelling shut.

"My dear," the man began, sighing dramatically.

"Don't bother," I snarled, spitting on the floor again. "I know you don't need information. If you did, you would have captured my partner."

"Who is to say we don't have him already?" the man asked smugly.

I tensed for a second, listening as a man somewhere in the building cried out, but I shook my head a moment later. "I say," I shot back. "You don't want information, you want me. Why?"

"You're a malfunctioning weapon, Miss Rogers," the man replied, and his voice moved closer. "You're dangerous. And you've aligned yourself with Shield. However, you do have information we want." He paused for effect, and I flinched as he rested his hands on my shoulders. His lips brushed against the shell of my ear, and my throat closed up in fear. "How did you escape?" he whispered.

I froze, terrified. Did they really not know? Or was he playing me for a fool? I remembered someone letting me out of cryofreeze, unlocking the door—but he wasn't talking about that, because they would have assumed that I'd freed myself; besides, even if someone had let me out, they'd be long dead by now—time would have seen to that. No, they wanted to know how I'd broken free of their brainwashing, how I'd blocked them out.

His friend backhanded me, forcing my split lip to tear open further. I took a deep, shuddering breath, refusing to talk, and steeled myself for what was coming. If they found out how I'd broken out—my memories of James, the taunts I'd received from the guards that had triggered my memory and allowed for a crack in their defenses to appear—they'd change their methods. They wouldn't allow for slip-ups, which meant that I wouldn't be able to escape ever again.

"This is your final chance," the man said, sounding almost regretful. His thumb rubbed a circle across my skin, and I shuddered.

"Go to hell," I whispered, staring defiantly at the soldier in front of me and bracing myself for a beating.

"As you wish."

The man in front of me got to work, striking me repeatedly but avoiding my chest—why, I did not know. I refused to speak even when I felt my nose break, even when blood pooled around my feet. I wasn't going to become their slave again. I'd rather die than go back to what I'd been.

I struggled to breathe, choking on the blood that was pouring from my nose and the blood that rose up my throat. I was bleeding internally, I was sure. My body was shaking, and my chains were shivering like wind chimes.

"Tell me what I want to know and this can all end," the man said, speaking for the first time in what felt like hours and sounding just as relaxed as he had before. "My parter says that you begged for mercy when he first captured you. Is that true?"

If it was an attempt to rile me up, it was failing, but it was a good reminder of the wound that he had so far been avoiding. My stomach twisted, bile rose in my throat, burning its way towards my mouth.

"There is only so much we can do to you," the man continued, sounding almost regretful. "Considering all we've done before, that is."

My blood boiled at the reminded of all they'd taken from me, and I strained against my bonds, yearning to break free of them and tear the man's head off his shoulders.

"Wait a moment…" I felt the man touch my shoulder, and I jerked away from his light touch, fear encircling my heart. "Interesting."

He brushed my hair back from my shoulder—my heart was slamming against my chest, and fresh blood stained the bandages—his lips touched my skin, and I slammed the side my head into his, fully understanding what was on his mind. He fell back, swearing, and his companion struck me across the face again. I didn't have enough energy to react.

"Very well." The man abruptly switched to Russian. "Finish it."

The man hit me again, but this time he struck the bullet wound with all the force he possessed. I don't think I've screamed so loudly since I lost my wings, or since. I couldn't think, I couldn't see, I couldn't breathe—I was sobbing, trying in vain to shield myself from the next blow, shaking so horribly that the chains holding me rattled continuously. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.

The words flew through my mind, but I didn't speak them aloud. I wouldn't. I knew that I was the only one who'd broken free of their mind control, the only one who'd escaped. If I told them how, then everyone else under their control would be lost forever. I wasn't going to be the one to enslave their minds.

"You think…" I gasped, letting my head loll back against the back of the chair as blood and spittle bubbled over my lips. "You think… it would—be… that easy?" I wheezed. My chest rose and fell at an alarming rate, and I could barely feel my own heartbeat, it was beating so fast. Blood by now had soaked through my bandages and was running down my body, streaming down my legs, mixing with the sweat that coated my skin and pooling in a puddle at my feet. "I left… because… anything would be—better… than—that hell."

The man sighed in disappointment, and the soldier before him tensed. "I see," he stated. "Well, I see we have no other choice. Soldier. Finish the job."

My torturer left, disappearing behind me, and the other man took a step forward. For the first time I caught a glint of metal from beneath his glove. At the same moment, I caught the distant sound of gunfire. I started laughing maniacally, shaking my head as tears started rolling down my swollen cheeks. Something surfaced—a memory of a soldier with a metal arm wrenching open the door that held me prisoner. He kissed me, then shoved me along ahead of him. "I'll be right behind you."

It was James. He was alive. Oh, God, he was alive— and they'd made him watch as they tortured me. I took a watery breath—they were going to have him kill me.

"You fool," I choked in Russian, coughing up blood as I leaned my head back to yell after the commander. "You think—Coulson let me—in here—by my—self?"

Gunfire sounded again, closer this time. The man swore and called something to the remaining soldier—to James—as he left the room with the other man, turning off the bright lights and leaving one dim one behind. The Winter Soldier—that was his name here, not James, but he would always be James to me—whom I could now see clearly, lifted his gun to point at my face. I wasn't laughing anymore. My blood had spattered across his shirt.

"It's okay, James," I whispered, nodding my head. I was shaking so badly that blood flew off my skin and speckled the ground around me. "It's okay. You don't have to perform for them anymore." My voice broke. "You can come home."

James blinked once, glancing down at the floor to his right, and then looked back at me. He walked behind me, and I felt the gun rest against my head. I closed my eyes, pressed my thumb against my ring, which hadn't been taken away.

He cocked the gun, and something hard struck me in the back of the head.

~8~8~8~

When I next tried to open my eyes, Coulson was right there beside me. "Hey, take it easy," he warned, and I felt a slight pressure on my good shoulder. "You went through hell."

"I know."

I opened my eyes. I was in a hospital bed, and Coulson and I were alone. I couldn't really see or move or breathe, so I settled for listening, focusing on Coulson as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, first of all," he started. "I thought I was the target, not you."

I know.

"By the time I realized it, it was too late; they had taken you. I was able to track you down, find you. You're safe now."

I shook my head, fighting down feelings of anger and betrayal. "What happened?"

"I don't know." Coulson shook his head. "It's the strangest thing. I made it into the room, but not before a few of the enemy soldiers had made it there first. By the time I got inside, you were unconscious, and the rest of the men were dead."

Dead. My heart leapt into my throat, and I gagged. "Dead?"

"Like something had torn them apart," Coulson agreed.

James. The Angel wouldn't hurt him… would she? "Was there—" I swallowed. "Was there a man with a metal arm?"

"What?"

"A metal arm. Wast here a man with a metal arm—among the men were were killed?"

"There were a couple men missing arms," Coulson shrugged, looking queasy, "but no metal arms among them. Why?"

I shook my head, both relieved and horrified. What had I done?

"What is it?"

"I want to go home," I whispered. My tongue felt like wood in my mouth.

Coulson nodded and handed me a glass of water, which I was almost too weak to accept. "I already spoke with Agent Barton: he'll be here soon to collect you."

"How soon?" I rasped, shifting slightly. My chest hurt less now that I had something else to focus on, and so I ignored the pain, focusing more on breathing and thinking about my family.

Coulson gave me a small smile. "He'll be here tonight to pick you up."

"There aren't any assignments that you need me for?" I asked curiously, turning my head to look at him.

"No," he answered. "Considering everything you've already been through… Most agents would be put on the sidelines for a few months until they healed. You've been out of it for almost a week, and most of your bones have already mended, but your mind hasn't."

"How badly was I hurt?" I whispered, recalling for the first time that though it had not been James who did this—James, he was alive, he was alive—he had been present, and that he had, for some reason, not killed me. He had disobeyed a direct order, choosing to knock me out rather than to execute me, and that although he had been forced to watch as I was tortured, it hadn't been his fault. He didn't know. But he was fighting.

"You were shot, as you know," Coulson stated, shrugging. "You had a fractured cheekbone and broken nose, along with more than a few broken ribs. You had numerous lacerations, a severe concussion, and a Class Four Hemorrhage."

"Meaning…"

"Meaning that you're incredibly lucky to be alive," he summed up. "You can thank all those serums and radiation you've been exposed to for saving your life. Your nose, ribs, and head are still healing, as is your gunshot wound, but most everything else has mended. Give it another week, and you should be completely healed."

He was silent for a few minutes, leaving me to my thoughts. I wanted to cry and laugh and scream and dance—James was alive, he's alive, he's alive!

"Did you see anyone you recognized?" Coulson interrupted my thoughts, frowning. "Did you see any faces? Of the people who attacked you, I mean."

My heart skipped a beat, and the motion was reflected on the monitor. I hoped Coulson attributed it to horror recalling the event instead of fear that he'd go after James. "I didn't see their faces."

"Katie—"

"The man stood behind me the whole time," I told him, clenching my hand into a fist. "They had a list shining in my face, and the other man who hit me would stand behind it. I didn't see anyone, Coulson."

"Katie. I need you to be honest with me." He looked me straight in the eye. "Did you see or hear or recognize anyone who was a part of kidnapping and torturing you?"

My stomach twisted as I looked him square in the eye.

"No." After a few seconds, Coulson nodded. I leaned back and closed my eyes. "Please don't tell anyone I'm going back," I murmured, feeling the pain of the wounds for the first time before it became numb once more as the drugs did their work.

"I'll see what I can do." I could feel myself slipping off to sleep again, falling back into unconsciousness. I was so tired. Even the effort of keeping my eyes open was draining. Coulson touched my shoulder. "Get some rest."

I nodded tiredly, letting my head drop to the side. I needed to rest. Soon I'd be home with my brother. We hadn't separated on the best note, but… hopefully we'd make up. We always did. Once I was healed, I'd go find James. He'd been stuck in Hydra long enough.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, kiddo."

I opened my eyes and smiled when I saw Clint sitting right beside my bed. I shifted, wincing slightly at the movement. I felt better than I had that morning, which was saying a lot.

"Hi, Clint."

"I'm here to take you home," he informed me softly. "Are you up for that?"

I nodded, closing my eyes against the pain in my head. "Yeah."

Clint helped me out of bed, grabbing my bag on his way out. Fitz and Skye had come by earlier to say goodbye while Ward stood brooding in the background. Fitz had hugged me as tightly as he dared, telling me to be careful and that he'd see me soon. May and Simmons couldn't make it, but they sent their love. Well, Simmons did. May said she hoped I felt better.

He strapped me into the plane he'd piloted there and then took up his spot up front.

"Where are we going?"

"Your brother moved to DC to be closer to the Triskelion," he informed me. "He's working with Shield now."

Had I been standing up, I would have fallen over. _"What?"_ My voice came out as a hoarse squeak.

"He doesn't know that Shield isn't all it says it is," he soothed, shaking his head. "Calm down. I've been checking up on his missions: he hasn't been doing anything for Hydra." He paused for a few minutes. "He's meeting us at the airfield," he informed me. "I've got somewhere to be, but he's taking you home."

"Thank you for getting me, Clint," I sighed, resting my head against the wall.

"That's what friends are for," he offered me a smile before turning back to face the front.

I curled into a ball and stared out the window, lost in thought. What would Steve say? Would he still be angry with me? Or would he forgive me?

I found myself longing for a time without war, where Steve and I trusted each other completely, where each was the other's right hand man, where both looked out for and loved the other. What had happened to us? When had that relationship faded?

"Stop worrying," Clint called from up front.

I started, frowning slightly. "Why do you think I'm worried?"

"You get this… _look_ on your face when you worry," Clint explained, shrugging slightly. "Your eyebrows crease together. Also, your right hand turns into a fist."

I glanced down to find that he was right, and I relaxed my hand as he chuckled.

"You've got nothing to worry about, Katie," Clint told me, calming me down slightly. "Trust me."

~8~

 _"_ _Are you okay?"_

 _I glanced up into James's mischievous blue eyes and gave him a worried smile before glancing back down at the ice. We were standing on the edge of a frozen pond, and I was_ terrified. _I had never gone ice skating before, though James claimed that it was lots of fun and that it was on his bucket list that I go ice skating with him before he died. Why that was one of his life's greatest ambitions, I had no idea._

 _His smile made the color rise to my cheeks, and I blushed fiercely. "I'm okay, I just…" I was afraid of falling. I always had been, and it didn't matter how high the height was: a foot, a yard, a mile… I was terrified by the idea. Currently I was terrified that I would fall_ through _the ice._

 _"_ _C'mon." He took my gloved hand in his and tugged me lightly towards the pond, grinning. "I'll be with you the whole time."_

 _I glanced back at the shore where other kids were playing, and I took a deep breath before following him. He smiled brightly and laughed as our skates touched the ice, and he immediately started to skate, gliding effortlessly around the edge of the pond. He circled back and took my hand, pulling my gently with him._

It isn't so bad, _I thought as we skated. I wobbled continuously, but James was there to steady me. Snowflakes lit on my eyelashes and hair, and the wind bit through my clothes, turning my nose and ears numb but I was still having fun. James stopped for a second, and I joined him, holding on to his jacket to stay upright._

 _"_ _Thanks for coming, Katie," he smiled down at me. "It means a lot."_

 _I managed a shy smile back, which quickly changed into a surprised 'o' when he want down and kissed me quickly on the cheek. I blinked, feeling a tingling feeling spread out from where his lips had touched my skin. It was James's turn to look shy, and his face burned red as he backtracked._

 _"_ _I, uh…" he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "You look real pretty today."_

 _"_ _Bucky!" James was saved from having to say more by a friend of his, who appeared on the opposite side of the pond. "Hey, c'mere!"_

 _"_ _Coming!" James stared skating around the edge of the pond, pulling me with him. I lost my balance and wobbled, falling to my knees a few feet away, breathing heavily. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew something was wrong, but it wasn't until a crack like a whip cut through the air that panic sang through my veins. I saw James turn, saw his eyes widen in panic, and then I felt the ground disappear from beneath my hands and knees as I screamed._

 _Icy water closed over my head, and I gasped instinctively as my chest tightened, sending a rush of icy water into my lungs. I kicked, and my head broke the surface again. I coughed, choking on the water, coughing it up, and screamed again. I saw James at the edge, yanking his jacket and shoes off and shouting to his friend. I was hyperventilating, still coughing up water._

 _I grabbed for the nearest piece of ice but went under again, weighed down by my jacket and shoes. I looked around, disoriented, choking—everything was dark, I couldn't find the hole I'd fallen through—I kicked at my skates, trying to get them off, to swim, but couldn't free myself. I couldn't see. I couldn't breath. I couldn't think._

I'm gonna die down here.

 _My lungs were filling with water. I thrashed, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to expel the water from my lungs and only succeeding in welcoming more in. Something hooked around my waist, yanking me upwards as I went completely limp._

 _The next thing I remembered was coughing up water, sucking in oxygen that burned my lungs, spitting up foul tasting lake water. I opened my eyes, blinking away the ice that was forming on my lashes to see James kneeling beside me, dipping wet and panting and looking on the verge of tears. His friend was gone, where I did not know. James looked younger than I had ever seen him, and he was holding onto the sleeve of my jacket like a lifeline._

 _"_ _J-J-James?" my teeth clattered together. My whole body was shaking like a leaf, and I couldn't get enough air. My voice sounded strangely muffled to my own ears._

 _He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me into him, holding me close to his chest as he started crying, saying things I couldn't understand through leaden, frozen ears. He tore my jacket off and replaced it with his dry one, doing the same with the socks he'd been wearing._

 _By then, adults had arrived on the scene. I recognized Mr. Johnson, a doctor who lived a few blocks away. He broke through the crowd and picked me up, scolding James—or that's what it looked like, at least—and handing him his own jacket, dragging him along. I passed out, going limp in the man's arms._

 _When I woke up again, I was at home. Mom was right beside me, tucking a blanket around my shoulders. I was still shivering._

 _"_ _Mom?" I rasped, craning my neck to look at her._

 _She burst into tears, kneeling down and holding me tight to her as she brushed pieces of hair back from my forehead. She rubbed my arms and legs, bringing feeling back into them. "My beautiful girl," she whispered, kissing my forehead. "Thank God you're safe."_

 _"_ _What happened?" I croaked._

 _"_ _You fell through the ice," she said, pulling herself together and tucking another blanket around me. "Bucky jumped in and got you out."_

 _"_ _Is he okay?"_

 _Mom nodded, smiling as she held a cup of hot chocolate to my lips. "He'll be fine. He's cold, but he should be alright. You're the one he's worried about."_

 _"_ _He kissed me," I remembered suddenly, blushing furiously. "On the cheek. Right before I fell in."_

 _My mother smiled knowingly and brushed her hand across my chilled cheek before leaning forward and kissing my forehead. She said nothing on the subject but instead rose from her spot and went to the kitchen to heat more water on the stove._

 _When she came out again, she placed a warm, damp rag on my forehead. As she let it go, she started to cough, and she quickly stood up, covering her mouth as she turned away. I sat up, and the blankets fell to my hips. "Mom?"_

 _She shook her head and left the room, and I stood on shaking legs, wrapping the blankets around me like a cape as I followed her down the hall._

 _"_ _Mom, what's wrong?"_

 _"_ _I'm alright." She was leaning against her bed, trembling slightly, clutching a red handkerchief in her left hand. "I'll be alright, Sweetheart. Trust me."_

~8~

 _Trust me_. It seems people said that a lot.

I limped down the stairs onto the tarmac, letting Clint pull my bags along behind me, keeping an arm wrapped around my ribs. I wouldn't be doing much fighting for a while. Steve was waiting for me, leaning against a car, and Natasha was sitting on the hood behind him. She slid off when we got closer, going to speak to Clint.

Steve, who I expected to tell me off, came over and hugged me as tightly as he could without injuring me. When he pulled away, there were tears in his eyes. "I heard what happened," he told me, squeezing my shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, it is." His expression turned grieved. "I was horrible to you, I drove you away, I—"

"Steve," I started, but he spoke over me.

"Katherine."

I started—he rarely used my full name.

"I'm your brother. It's my job to protect you, and I've done a horrible job. Please, let me apologize. Let me make it right."

I studied him for a few seconds, fighting back tears. Did he really think I was angry at him? That I hated him? That he was a horrible brother?

I moved forward and hugged him as tightly as I could, taking a deep breath to keep from crying into his chest. "I love you, Steve," I said into his jacket, which muffled my words.

His voice broke as he hugged me back. "I love you too, kiddo."

~8~

"You live here?" I asked, looking around at the large apartment. He nodded, pulling my bags along with him. To my left was a hallway stretching down to what appeared to be a kitchen and living room. Steve's shield was propped against the wall, and multiple books lined the shelves.

"Yeah, I do."

I glanced back at him. "Alone?"

He gave me a crooked smile and chuckled. "I'm not married, Katie," he reminded me. I heard a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"I know, but…" the look in his eyes stopped me, and I closed my mouth. Nevermind.

He led me to the right, to where two doors sat side-by-side. "This one is your room," he told me, opening the door. "Natasha decorated."

I could see that. I never would have pegged the assassin as an interior decorator, but she did a remarkable job. The whole room was made of light, neutral colors. Bookshelves lined one of the walls, and they were filled with books both fictional and true, ranging from fantasy to stories and documentaries about what had happened between 1940 and the present. Several empty notebooks—at least half a dozen—were squeezed between the _Holy Bible_ and _Making History._ A glass vase filled with roses sat on the bedside table. A few framed _LIFE_ magazines from the 1930s and 40s lined the walls, all in mint condition. I actually saw a few that I recognized, ones that I remembered reading or seeing in the store windows when I was young. An empty, antique silver picture frame sat on the bedside table beside the flowers.

I gingerly sat down in the linen chair that rested beside the large, open window, closing my eyes as my aching bones breathed a sigh of relief. When I opened them, Steve was setting my bags beside a dresser across from the bed.

"Fury just called," he informed me, shifting slightly. "He needs Natasha and I to leave for a mission immediately." He paused for a moment. "You don't _have_ to stay here," he added. "If you want to look around, you can."

I shook my head. "I think I'll rest up a bit. When will you be back?"

"I don't know. The mission's on the other side of the world." He paused. "Should be back tomorrow morning."

I nodded and stood, wincing. Steve took a step forward, steadying me, and I hugged him tightly. "I love you," I whispered. "Stay safe."

"I will. I love you, Katie."

He disappeared, grabbing his shield as he went, and locked the door behind him. I heard a faint beep, informing me that the security system had turned on.

After that, all I had left to do was to wait. I ended up falling asleep sometime after midnight, passing out from exhaustion. When I woke up, it was to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen.

It took a few moments to remember that I wasn't on the Bus any longer, and I felt a twinge of sadness that I wouldn't be going down to spar with Grant or May, that I wouldn't have breakfast with Fitz, that I wouldn't be able to beat Skye or Simmons in a card game. At the same time, I felt overjoyed that I was finally with my brother, relatively safe. Hopefully Pierce wouldn't catch wind of the fact that I was back, though, or I'd be in deep trouble.

I stretched, already feeling enormously better than I had the night before. The floor-length mirror on the wall confirmed what I'd already felt: most of the abrasions on my skin were gone, replaced by thin scratches or scars. The contusion on my head had faded to a bruise. My ribs, though sore, were almost completely healed.

I entered the kitchen to see a half-asleep Steve puttering around making coffee.

"Morning," I murmured, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched him pour a laughable amount of sugar into his coffee. He glanced up from his place at the bar and smiled tiredly, reaching out and hugging me around my waist.

"Good morning," he echoed, releasing me. He bent over his coffee, staring blankly into the dark surface, and I walked around the counter to shift through his cabinets. I ended up pulling out a large box of Fruit Loops and pouring myself a heaping bowlful before joining my brother.

"When did you get home?" I asked curiously. It registered a moment later that I'd said 'home' and not 'back'—maybe because home was where the heart is, and a large part of my heart remained with Steve, my only remaining family. The rest of it belonged to James, wherever he was.

"A few hours ago," he replied, nodding slowly. "I got a couple hours of sleep."

I knew he didn't need much sleep anymore, but he still needed more than that, I thought. I let him brood over his coffee for a few minutes before I remembered something important I had to tell him.

"I found out why you forgot me," I told him suddenly, shoveling a large spoonful of cereal into my mouth to avoid saying anything else. Steve choked, sending a spray of coffee across the countertop. He coughed, wiping his face with a dishrag, and ducked down under the sink for a bottle of 409. He mopped up the mess as I watched, silent. The toaster went off, and Steve pulled the bread from the machine, grabbing a jar of jam as well.

I swallowed my mouthful of sugar. "Coulson helped me figure it out," I continued, shifting in my chair. Steve didn't take his eyes off me as he leaned against the counter, watching me with a sad, confused expression I didn't fully understand. "Something called TAHITI… they stole your memories, I think. Replaced them, somehow. Coulson thinks that because of Doctor Erskine's serum, your mind was able to fight back against it, remember the true memories and delete the false ones." I paused. "Does that make sense?"

Steve nodded, deep in thought, and his brow furrowed. "Do you know who did it?" he finally asked, looking up and meeting my gaze.

 _Hydra._ "Yes." When I didn't elaborate, his gaze turned dark.

"Shield."

"Yes."

He wasn't wrong. And maybe right now the best thing for him was to believe first that Shield wasn't all it seemed. It would make it easier for him to understand if and when Hydra revealed itself.

"So… I didn't just _forget_ you?" Steve clarified, looking hopeful.

"No. They _made_ you forget me." I smiled softly, shrugging. "And you still remembered me."

He beamed up at me and then returned to his seat. We finished eating in silence, and I couldn't help but think about how similar this was to our past: how many times we'd wake up and eat breakfast together before we left for school or church.

"I have to go to the Triskelion," Steve informed me after he cleaned up the dishes. "Fury has some explaining to do."

I frowned. "About what?"

"The mission last night. Natasha was given a different mission than the rest of us, and it almost compromised the safety of everyone on board." I winced at the underlying anger in his tone.

"And you want to know why."

"I do." He gave me a tired smile. "Let's do something after. The museum, maybe."

My blood turned cold, and I shook my head. "Eli died there," I whispered.

Steve nodded in understanding and squeezed my shoulder. "You really miss him, don't you?"

"He was a good man," I replied. "The best friend I'd had in a long time."

Steve nodded. "Alright. I'll be home soon. Rest up, and I'll see you later this afternoon."

"Okay," I offered him a weary smile. "Love you."

"I love you, too."


	3. Chapter 3

I spent the day resting, catching up on the sleep I had been deprived of on the Bus, and was awoken later that afternoon by my brother, who was on his way downtown. I jolted awake, almost punching Steve in the nose as he shook me gently, trying to wake me up. I relaxed when I saw it was him, falling back into the pillows.

"Steve," I breathed, holding a hand to my chest. "Don't do that."

"Sorry," he smiled sheepishly. "But there's someone I want you to meet."

"Who?" I asked, puzzled. I sat up, stretching, and Steve took a step back.

"A friend of mine," he clarified slightly. "First, though, Natasha sent you this." He held out a piece of paper to me, and I took it, scanning the Russian quickly. She wanted me to dye my hair, worried that someone might recognize me. She may not have known that Shield—Hydra—was after me, but she knew that someone was, and she was trying to hide me. She had included a bottle of dye, which Steve helped apply to my hair. It took almost an hour to do, since we had no idea what we were doing, and in the end, my hair was a mess of tangled brown curls. Steve ruffled my hair as we walked out the door, grinning.

"You know," he began, smiling. "This is what you looked like when Bruce found you."

I blinked. I hadn't realized that. Back then, I used to dye my hair whenever I left to go to town, trying to keep people off my tail. At the time, I didn't even know who was on my tail. When I left to go save Tony, I hadn't bothered dyeing it, so it looked messy and outgrown, but dark. I had fixed it as soon as I realized my brother was alive, trying to jog his memory… looks like we had come full circle. Now I was dyeing it to hide from Hydra. Again.

I just nodded, offering him a smile as we walked out the front of the building, just barely catching how his mouth as turned down at the corners as he stared at the ground, deep in thought, before he looked back at me and smiled.

I rode on the back of his motorcycle downtown, clinging to him as he wove through traffic. He listened when I yelled at him to slow down—I wasn't great at riding on fast-moving metal machines—and we made it to the VA without major incident.

A pretty young woman with dark skin and tight ringlet curls was sitting at the front desk, speaking on the phone. She smiled at the pair of us, holding up a finger to motion for us to wait as she spoke. "Yes, sir—No, sir—Yes, Mr. Wilson is available on Wednesdays from eleven to—No, sir, he does not make house calls—Yes, I understand, but—"

"So how'd your meeting go?" I asked Steve as I waited, crossing my arms over my chest as I leaned against the counter. My ribs were still tender, but mostly healed, and I could breathe without too much issue now. By tomorrow morning I should be right as rain. One good thing about the Angel was that she hated being hurt, and she sped up my healing a lot.

Steve's expression tightened, and he clenched his fists, shaking his head. "Shield is building a trio of Helicarriers that will 'guard the planet,'" he told me bitterly, lowering his voice and missing how the color drained from my face. "'Neutralize a lot of threats before they even happen,'" he growled in a good imitation of the director's voice. "They're equipped with guns that can take out a thousand people a minute, and they can stay in the air indefinitely…" Steve trailed off, frowning at me. I had frozen, and my horror must have shown on my face, because my brother stiffened and looked around. "What's wrong?"

So much. So much was wrong. Hydra was almost ready.

"Thank you so much for waiting," the young woman had hung up the phone and was now smiling brightly at the two of us, giving us—Steve—her undivided attention. I swallowed and schooled my features back into what I hoped was a neutral expression as she spoke. "What can I do for you?"

"Yes, ma'am, we're here to see Sam Wilson," my brother smiled back kindly, and the woman beamed. I couldn't help but wonder how oblivious my brother was to the attention he received, or whether he still thought about Peggy. Or was there someone else he was interested in?

"Just down the hall, take a right, and it's the third door on the left," she instructed. The phone started ringing again, and her lips pursed slightly as she sent an annoyed look in its direction. "Sam's in the middle of a session, but he should be done in the next twenty minutes."

Steve thanked her and led me down the hall. Most of the doors were closed, but a few were open, revealing empty rooms. Mr. Wilson's room was the only full one at the moment, as far as I could tell, and it was right where the secretary had indicated. I peered inside to see a young man standing at the front of the room, listening to a woman in his audience talk.

The woman was probably in her mid thirties, and she had her arms crossed in front of her. I could see a few lines of scar tissue running down the length of her arm. "The thing is… I think it's getting worse. A cop pulled me over last week, he thought I was drunk." She laughed humorlessly. "I swerved to miss a plastic bag." Her voice grew quieter. "I thought it was an IED."

Mr. Wilson nodded in understanding, and I glanced over at my brother, who was watching the man speak with rapt intensity. I sometimes felt that Steve needed to be in these meetings—he had a lot he needed to get off his chest. "Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It's our job to figure out how to carry it. Is it gonna be in a big suitcase?… or in a little man-purse?" He smiled and shrugged. "It's up to you."

I looked down at my feet. Maybe I needed to sit in on some of these meetings too. Steve stepped to one side as the veterans began filing out of the room, letting them talk quietly amongst themselves without interrupting. Finally Sam Wilson exited, speaking to the woman who had spoken.

"I'll see you next week," she told him, offering him a weary sort of smile.

He smiled at her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She left, heading towards the double doors at the end of the hallway.

Mr. Wilson glanced up at my brother and grinned as he organized several stacks of books. "Look who it is. The running man."

I lifted an eyebrow and glanced at my brother, who shrugged sheepishly. So there was some story there, then. I couldn't wait to hear it. Steve gestured to me, catching Mr. Wilson's attention. "Sam, this is my sister, Katherine."

Sam arched an eyebrow, looking pleasantly surprised. At first I didn't see what the big deal was, but then realized that Sam likely knew who exactly my brother was, which meant he knew how old he was as well. Most hundred-year-old men didn't have teenage siblings. "Your sister?" he asked as he shook my hand. "Does immortality run in the family?"

I laughed softly, liking him already. "Something like that," I shrugged good-naturedly. "It's Katie, actually. Nice to meet you, Sam."

"Pleasure's all mine," Sam reassured me, squeezing my hand before letting it go.

"Caught the last few minutes," my brother stated casually, tucking his hands into his pockets and trying not to look like he was in desperate need of therapy. Sam glanced over at him as he finished straightening his books. "It's pretty intense."

The other man nodded, smiling, and picked up a stack of them before thinking better of it and setting them back on the table. "Yeah, brother, we all got the same problems. Guilt, regret."

I caught the note of pain in the man's voice, and my lips parted in a small 'o' as understanding struck. Steve must have been on the same wavelength, because his expression changed, sorrow flickering across his face for a moment before he could hide it. "You lose someone?"

Sam nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. The humor had gone from his face, replaced by resignation. His voice was heavy with grief and bitterness, and the lines around his eyes and mouth tightened. "My wingman, Riley. Flying a night mission. A standard PJ rescue op, nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before, till an RPG knock Riley's dumb ass out of the sky." He looked down, reliving the memory, took a deep breath, and then looked away from the pair of us. "Nothing I could do. It's like I was up there just to watch."

 _"Hang on!"_

 _"Get her!"_

 _"Grab my hand!"_

 _"No!"_

 _"James!"_

I shuddered, tucking my hands into the pocket of my sweatshirt. I didn't want to think about that, not now. Not here. I'd drive myself crazy if I thought about it for too long.

A glance in my brother's direction showed me that he was thinking about the same thing I was. I could see his jaw tighten as he fought back all the emotions washing over him, and I felt a jolt of panic when I realized that he didn't know that James was still alive. "I'm sorry."

Sam nodded, glancing back at the ground. "After that, I had really hard time finding a reason for being over there, you know?"

Steve nodded in agreement, understanding completely. I knew very well that the only reason Steve had stuck around was to try and completely destroy Hydra after James's death… I winced against when I realized that Hydra's reappearance meant that Steve had sacrificed himself for nothing. "But you're happy now, back in the world?"

The veteran chuckled, and the shadow that had hovered over him vanished. "Hey, the number of people giving me orders is down to about… zero? So, hell, yeah." He glanced between the two of us. "You thinking about getting out?"

"No." Steve paused and shrugged, grinning sheepishly. I knew him well enough to see the pain and confusion he was hiding beneath his mask, and it broke my heart. "I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I would do with myself if I did."

"Ultimate fighting?"

Steve laughed, and I snorted, covering it up with a coughing fit. The tension that had filled the air dissipated. Sam laughed jovially, flashing a bright grin.

"Just a great idea off the top of my head. But seriously, you could do whatever you want to do." He paused. "What makes you happy?"

Steve's brow furrowed as he looked at the ground, a funny little smile on his face. He looked up, shrugging, deep in thought. "I don't know."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know," Sam offered, holding out a hand for Steve to take, which he did. Sam then shook my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Katie. Go race your brother sometime," he added. "Let me know if you can beat him." I nodded, somewhat confused, and Sam gave me a crooked smile. "See you around," he waved and headed off, probably heading home to rest.

"What did you do?" I asked Steve as we headed back outside.

The sun was getting lower in the sky as we walked, and the streets were quickly becoming congested with traffic. Steve shrugged as he climbed onto the back of his motorcycle, foregoing his helmet. Well, he didn't actually own one, so he wasn't actually foregoing anything, it just meant that I didn't have one either.

"I beat him in a race," he stated simply as I climbed on behind him.

"A race?" I repeated. "Did he know you were racing?"

"After the third lap, he did."

"Steve!"

"What?" Steve laughed, ducking as I play-hit his arm. "I didn't mean any harm by it. By the way, there's something I've been meaning to show you. Hold on."

He gave me about three seconds before he gunned the engine, shooting forward. I clung to the back of his leather jacked tightly, pressing my cheek against his back and closing my eyes tightly.

"I don't like this… I really don't like this," I muttered, wincing as Steve slowed down abruptly before speeding on again. I felt him laugh, and I wrapped my arms around him, clutching my left wrist with my right hand.

After an eternity, we slowed to a stop. I opened my eyes. The sun was setting, and the sky was on fire. Steve had parked in front of an old-timer diner. the lights were on inside, blazing merrily, and a few people were seated at booths or perched on stools at the bar, drinking malts or watching the baseball game showing on TV.

Steve led the way, and the elderly woman behind the counter smiled kindly. "Grant, how nice to see you!" She bustled over to the counter, holding a notepad in her hand. "And who's this?"

"Maggie, this is my sister. Sarah, this is Maggie." Steve introduced me by my middle name, and I noticed that he used his middle name as well. I supposed that it was just as well—most people thought that Steve Rogers had died in 1945. They weren't expecting him to be haunting the streets of DC in the 2000s, much less by a different name. They wouldn't think anything of a Grant and Sarah Rogers stopping by for dinner.

"Pleasure to meet you," I smiled and shook her hand, and she beamed at me.

"So polite," she gushed. "Just like your brother; such a gentleman!"

I smiled and nodded in agreement before searching for a booth. Neither of us felt comfortable with our backs to the entrance, and neither would concede the seat, and so we picked a booth near the back where we could both watch the door. I ordered a burger, fries, and a shake, and Steve ordered the same.

"I found this place a few weeks ago," Steve explained. "I come here when I can. It feels… normal."

I nodded in agreement. "I understand." I waited for a few minutes before speaking, listening to the jukebox in the corner. "Steve," I said suddenly, tugging at the edge of my jacket nervously. "There's something I need to tell you. It's about—" I took a shuddering breath. "It's about James."

Steve's expression fell, and he nodded his head sadly. "I thought you might," he murmured. "Considering what day it is." Seeing my puzzled look, he shrugged, looking over my shoulder at the calendar. I glanced back, my heart sinking when I saw the date. March tenth. It was his birthday.

"Oh," I breathed, looking down and staring at my folded hands as tears stung at my eyes. There wasn't anything more I could say.

"I thought maybe you'd forgotten…" he stared morosely at his water, tracing the condensation droplets with the tip of his thumb. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No." I shook my head, taking a deep breath. I'm going to save him. He's not spending another birthday in that hell, not so long as I have anything to say about it. "It's not your fault." Should I tell him about James? Steve seemed devastated by the reminder of his best friend's birthday—and death—so wouldn't it be better if I revealed that he was alive?

Or would it make it worse, knowing that James had been alive all these years, knowing that he hadn't looked for him, that he had left James to suffer at the hands of Hydra? Speaking of which…

"Steve, I have to tell you something—"

"Here you are, dears," Maggie beamed, setting our plates of steaming fried goodness down in front of us. She set our malts down as well, sticking striped straws into both. "Enjoy."

"Thank you." Steve smiled warmly at the woman, who grinned, patted his shoulder, and bustled away. He blessed the food quickly and dug in, noticing quickly that I hadn't touched my food. "What's wrong?"

I stared down into my lap. "Steve, I don't…" my voice hitched, and I looked away. How could I tell him that he died for nothing? That what he had fought for his whole life—freedom, justice—and what he was fighting for now was a farce, that SHIELD was in reality Hydra, that he was serving the people he'd died to stop?

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "Hey." I didn't look up. "Hey," he said, more forcefully this time. A tear welled up in the corner of my eye, and when I blinked, I watched it fall and land on the corner of my plate, soaking into the pointed end of a fry. "He wouldn't want you to cry."

Steve was right, he wouldn't. I hadn't ever found the letter James had written to me the week before he fell from the train, but I knew it had something to do with the horrible feeling we'd both had, the feeling we'd both ignored.

The feeling was back.

I lifted my head and looked around the cafe warily, suddenly on high alert. A couple policemen had just entered the building.

"I'm not feeling great, Steve," I murmured, shaking my head. "I'm sorry, I know you wanted to have dinner, but—"

"Hey, no, it's fine." Steve wiped his hands and stood, offering me a hand up from my seat. He paid for the meal, tipping generously, and a few minutes later we were on the back of the motorcycle again, speeding towards his apartment. I didn't see any policemen on the ride home.


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Steve asked as we pulled up to the front of his apartment.

I glanced around, unable to shake the feeling that we were being watched, but nodded all the same. I relaxed my grip on his jacket as he pulled over, parking the bike, and I stepped off. "Sure."

Steve led the way inside, striding up to his apartment. I had developed a certain aversion to elevators over the last few decades, and Steve graciously led me to the stairs instead, despite the fact that we had to climb up upwards of ten flights to reach his floor. We were silent the entire march up with the one exception of when the toe of Steve's shoe caught the edge of a step, sending him falling up the stairwell. The sight of my older brother scrambling to his feet, beet red, was enough to make me laugh loudly. He grinned sheepishly and chuckled as he continued to climb.

We passed a young woman with blonde hair and pink scrubs as she exited her own apartment, speaking softly on the phone. "That's so sweet. That is so nice. Hey. I gotta go, though. Okay, bye." She hung up, placing the phone in the laundry basket balanced in her arms, and smiled at Steve, shrugging. "My aunt: she's kind of an insomniac." Steve smiled back at her, and she nodded, pursing her lips slightly as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Yep."

Steve seemed to be at a loss for words. "I'm Katie," I offered her my hand, smiling. She took it, beaming. Dimples appeared in her cheeks, and I was struck by how familiar she looked, though I couldn't place how I knew her face.

"Kate. Are you…" she glanced between my brother and I, apparently under the impression that he and I were together.

I laughed softly and shook my head, trying to resist the urge to shudder at the thought. "No; he's my brother."

A somewhat relieved smile crossed her face, and she nodded, glancing once more at Steve.

I glanced at my brother, who seemed to be in some sort of stupor, and nudged him with my elbow.

Steve shook his head, snapping back into reality. "Hey, if you want—if you want, you're welcome to use my machine. Might be cheaper than the one in the basement."

The young woman tilted her head curiously, smiling slightly. "Oh, yeah? What's it cost?"

"A cup of coffee?" I wondered if she caught the hopeful note in his voice. I did. The sound tore at my heart, and I found myself praying the girl would say yes while at the same time hoping she would not—I couldn't place how I knew her.

Kate glanced down, still smiling slightly, but politely declined. "Thank you, but um… I already have a load in downstairs, and you really don't want my scrubs in your machine. I just finished orientation in the infectious diseases ward, so…" she shrugged, offering an apologetic smile.

Steve laughed weakly, shaking his head, and held up his hands as he took a small step back. "Ah, well, I'll keep my distance."

She responded immediately, and I caught the flirty tone in her voice when she spoke again. "Well hopefully not too far." I watched as Steve nodded and turned to go into his apartment, relieved to not be a third wheel any longer, and Kate spoke again, as an afterthought. "Oh, and I think you left your stereo on."

I froze, thinking quickly, and Steve nodded. "Oh. Right, thank you."

The woman nodded, smiling, and left, heading downstairs. "Yeah. It was nice to meet you, Katie."

I waved absently, keeping my gave trained on my brother's face.

Steve watched her go, momentarily distracted.

I smacked his arm, suddenly sure the stereo hadn't been left on and completely tired of his doe-eyed staring. Any other time I would have teased him, asked who the girl was—but I had ended dinner over a bad feeling, and it was only growing worse with the girl's infuriating familiarity. "Steve," I hissed, tugging on his sleeve. I had no desire for the Angel to make an appearance tonight—seeing how well the night was going, though, I was sure something would happen to wake her up.

Steve leaned in, listening to the music, and when he looked up, his expression was dangerous and suspicious. He tugged me back downstairs, and we ended up scaling the building before entering the apartment through the window. Steve climbed in first, hauling me over the sill after him. He tiptoed through the hall, amazingly light on his feet for someone of his size, and plucked his shield from where it rested against the wall.

I glanced into the kitchen as the music changed, swelling and growing louder—my cereal bowl still sat on the counter. I ran into Steve, who had stopped moving, and peered around him to see Nick Fury, Director of Shield, reclining in Steve's armchair.

I blinked, completely confused, and glanced at my brother for help. He glanced down at me, irritated beyond words with the situation we were caught in. He lowered his shield and leaned his shoulder against the doorway.

"I don't remember giving you a key," Steve stated testily, shaking his head at me to remain silent.

Nick sat up, grunting, and I caught the edge of pain in his breath as he shifted his weight. My hand drifted to the knife hidden on my belt as I squinted through the darkness, trying to make out any injuries hidden in the darkness.

"You really think I'd need one?" His tone changed as he shifted forward. "My wife… kicked me out."

"Didn't know you were married," Steve commented nonchalantly. I glanced between the two of them warily. Fury and Steve had met earlier today to discuss the Helicarrier problem—I knew tensions were probably high. I also knew that this impromptu rendezvous couldn't possibly be a coincidence—something was wrong.

Fury chuckled a little bit, glancing my way and giving me a small nod. "There are a lot of things you don't about me." He paused and glanced over me but said nothing about my appearance, which solidified my fear that there were people watching or listening in on us.

Steve sighed and shifted forward to flip on the light. Fury might not have been able to see how exhausted my brother was, but I could—just as I could hear the pain in Nick's voice that Steve couldn't catch. "I know, Nick. That's the problem."

My heart leapt into my throat as I lunged forward to latch onto his wrist and keep him from flipping the switch. "Steve, wait—"

The lamp beside Fury turned on, revealing multiple bruises and lacerations peppering the director's face, many more than I had expected. My hand flew to my mouth, but Fury indicated for us to be silent, and he turned off the light. My fingers closed around my knife, drawing it from my belt as the director typed something into his phone and showed it to Steve and I.

"Ears everywhere," it read.

I closed my eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the Angel to be calm even as fear washed over me.

"I'm sorry to have do this, but I had no place else to crash."

I opened my eyes in time to see the second message: "SHIELD compromised."

"Who else knows about your wife?" Steve asked, his voice low and dangerous. His muscled tensed beneath my fingers, which were beginning to grow numb from the tightness of my grip on his forearm.

Fury rose to his feet, grunting, and showed us a third message. "You and me."

"Just… my friends," he said out loud, stopping a few feet away. He glanced at my knife and nodded as though in approval.

"Is that what we are?" Steve challenged, sounding angry.

Nick's voice was calm. "That's up to you."

The wall behind Fury was tore apart as a trio of bullets struck Fury in the back—he arched and collapsed to the ground, trembling. I twisted around, ducking down to try and look out the window—moonlight glinted of metal—Steve grabbed the back of my neck, forcing me down, and grabbed Fury's arm with his free hand, dragging him into the next room. "Don't... trust anyone," Fury wheezed, pressing something into my brother's hand as his own went limp.

Something slammed against the door once, twice, three times—it burst open, slamming against the wall and rebounding back towards its frame.

"Captain Rogers?" Steve's neighbor appeared in the hallway, watching the room through the sights of the gun she expertly held. I blinked, and I knew suddenly where I knew her from—she had been my supposed cousin while I'd been aboard Coulson's plane.

"Captain, I'm Agent Thirteen of Shield's Special Service."

Steve blinked, thrown. "Kate?"

She lowered her gun as she hurried into the room. "I've been assigned to protect you."

"On whose order?" Steve snapped.

Sharon Carter—that is what I knew her name to be, now—froze, staring down at Fury's limp, bloodied form. "His." She bend down and pulled a walkie-talkie from her scrubs as she checked for a pulse. "Foxtrot is down—He's unresponsive, I need EMTs."

The other end of the line crackled with static. "Do you have a twenty on the shooter?"

Steve set his jaw. "Tell them I'm in pursuit."

In a span of a few seconds my brother had leapt through his window and into the next building, flying after the shooter. I glanced at Sharon, still on the ground, and then at the next building over—

"Katie, I need your help." She grabbed my wrist and pulled me down to kneel beside her. "Put pressure here—" her hand hovered over Fury's chest, and I obeyed, hesitantly pressing my palm where she'd indicated. "If he stops breathing, tell me immediately."

My heart was in my throat. "Sharon—"

The woman's dark eyes darted to meet mine, and she frowned. "You know who I am?"

I swallowed. "You're Peggy's niece."

Her gaze softened for a moment as she nodded, applying pressure to another bullet wound on the Director's abdomen. Her gaze dropped to Fury's body, distracted. "Yes."

Panic swelled up within me, and I tried to make the woman understand how afraid I was without stating it outright. I couldn't breathe. "I can't be here."

"I know." She glanced up once more and leaned closer, lowering her voice. "When they come, go to my apartment and wait. It's unlocked," she breathed.

I nodded, holding my breath, and continued to do as she instructed, trying not to throw up at the feel of the Director's lifeblood slipping through my fingers.

How did this keep happening? My own injuries had barely healed, and here I was trying to staunch the flow of blood from another man's wounds. Was this happening because of me? I couldn't see how this could be a coincidence.

A car door slammed, and Sharon nodded at me.

I was up in a flash—I darted to the door, which Sharon had broken down, and raced down the hall. Her door was unlocked, as she'd promised, and I ducked inside as the first footsteps sounded on the stairs. I shut the door softly, touching the knob only with the fabric of my shirt, determined not to leave any prints behind. I hated to leave the door unlocked, but I knew it would be suspicious for the woman to have locked her apartment when she was only going downstairs.

Sharon's apartment was nice and well lived in. I supposed that it had to be, to keep up appearances. A television hung on the wall, and a cable box and blu-ray player sat neatly on the shelf below it, along with several dozen assorted films. An 'L'-shaped leather sofa dominated the living room, and a dark wooden coffee table rested in the space between the two legs. A now-cold cup of tea sat demurely on a coaster, and a cope of Paradise Lost was sitting face down on the surface of the table. A soft grey throw was hanging off the side of the couch, and a basket of clean laundry was sitting abandoned by the armrest.

Her windows had a fine view of the park across the street—I could see a sliver of it through the linen curtains she had drawn over the frames. I was grateful for the cover, but I still ducked down low as I moved, determined to remain unseen. The hallway was bare but for a few pictures, and I noticed with a start that my face was staring out at me from one of them. I moved closer—it was the image I'd been given so long ago of she and I standing together and smiling. To keep up appearances, I supposed.

Her room was small and neat: a queen sized bed with a neutral colored duvet, a dresser, and a nightstand. A vase of day-old flowers sat on the dresser. Inside the closet were several pantsuits and pencil skirts and multiple pairs of shoes were stacked neatly on their shelves. Inside the drawers—or the one that was already open, anyway—were several pairs of scrubs.

I slid under the bed, fluffing the bedskirt out to where it had been previously, and squeezed between the various boxes and containers, hiding myself from the view of anyone who decided to check such an obvious hiding place.

It was nearly dawn before anyone came inside. I jerked awake when the front door clicked shut. There was only one person, and it was a woman. She moved around the apartment for a few minutes before ending up in the doorway to her room.

"It's me," she sighed. I wiggled out from under the bed, and she offered me a hand up. The poor woman looked exhausted—dark circles had formed under her eyes. She leaned against the edge of her bed, pressing her palms over her eyes.

"How is he?" I asked, brushing my fingers through my hair to rid it of the dust that had accumulated between the strands. "Did you catch the shooter?"

She shook her head and took a shuddering breath. "We didn't catch him," she murmured. "Director Fury is dead."

I didn't remember sitting down, but I remembered staring blankly at my dirty reflection in the mirror that hung on Sharon's wall. Fury was dead? I couldn't hear anything other than a buzzing in my ears. Somehow I never thought it possible that Fury could die—I had met him several decades ago, and he hadn't changed at all in all those years. Even with all my knowledge and experience with death, I always assumed that he'd always be around. I also had thought—whenever the thought briefly crossed my mind—that if anything did happen to kill Fury, he would go out fighting or in an explosion—not shot in the chest by a sniper.

"You brother is at the hospital right now," she continued, "but he doesn't want you to join him."

"Smart," I commented heavily, staring down at my booted feet.

"C'mon," she offered me a weak smile.

~8~8~8~

Half an hour later, Sharon dropped me off at the entrance to the hospital on her way to the Triskellion. Apparently her apartment was bugged, same as Steve's—and on the off chance that someone was listening in on her, she didn't want anyone to know where I was or where I was headed.

I wandered around for a bit, dodging Shield agents and trying to look as though I belonged there. It wasn't difficult to look like some drained, grieving relative—I hadn't slept in days, and I was scared out of my mind: anyone who had the ability and resources to kill Fury could easily kill me as well, and I kept expecting to get a bullet between my shoulder blades as I moved further into the hospital.

I ran into Natasha on the third floor: she was feeding a handful of one dollar bills into the vending machine in front of her, grumbling as she shoved a couple packs of pink bubble gum into the pocket of her green jacket.

"Natasha."

The redhead looked over at me, taking in the new dark circles and curls that framed my face, and nodded. The vending machine spat out her dollar, and she swore in irritated Russian, digging around in her pocket for some quarters. I glanced at the machine and saw a small silver stick poking out from behind a pack of gum.

The agent shoved several quarters into the machine, and the next pack of gum fell to the ground, leaving the stick out in the open. "What is that?"

"Hubba Bubba." She handed me a pack and shoved her hand inside the machine to catch the stick as it fell. I stared at the gum for a moment and pocketed it, shaking my head.

"Where's my brother?"

"The Triskellion." She straightened and sighed, swallowing thickly. "Come on. You shouldn't be in the open."

She walked across the hall into a dark, empty room, and I followed, checking the corners as I entered. The spy watched me with amusement, but nodded in approval. "You haven't forgotten what I taught you," she stated.

"No. How could I forget?" I smiled weakly. "You left enough scars."

She laughed a little, but her expression quickly fell. "This doesn't add up," she breathed.

I glanced to the side, concerned. I had discovered months ago that Shield was not all that it seemed, but I hadn't told Natasha. How could I? It would tear her world apart. And now it looked like Hydra was about to swoop in and do it anyway.

She rubbed her abdomen absently, and I remembered suddenly a conversation I'd had with her before I left, back before I'd gone to work with Coulson's team.

 _"Where did you get that scar?" I blurted._

 _Her gaze darkened immediately, and she moved her hand to rest on her hip, covering it from view. She gave me a wary look, taking in my panicked appearance, and then answered. "A few years ago on a mission. An enemy combatant shot his target through me."_

 _"Who?" My heart began to beat faster, my blood roaring in my ears. I didn't understand why I was so afraid, so worried. "Who was the enemy sniper?"_

 _"This is confidential information, Katie," she tried, but I cut her off._

 _"So am I. Please, Natasha."_

 _She gave me a searching look and then shook her head. "I'm sorry."_

 _"Natasha, how did you get that scar?"_

Hazel eyes darted up, then narrowed. I stared back unblinkingly. "I was shot."

My heart was pounding in my ears. I may not have known the first time I asked her, but I knew now. "By whom?" I half-expected the same answer she'd given me so long ago; I expected to have to tell her everything, but I didn't. She answered me honestly, and that fact shocked me more than her answer.

"The Winter Soldier."


	5. Chapter 5

By the time my brother showed back up at the hospital, I was too worked up to stand still; Natasha had solved the problem by locking me inside a closet. She let me out once my brother returned, and he practically dragged the two of us out of the hospital.

Natasha marched down the street to the nearby high school, where Steve stowed his uniform and stole a pair of sweats, and then we used Natasha's car to drive to the mall.

We entered through the front doors and walked side by side down the hall—I ended up migrating a bit behind them, letting them talk while I scanned the perimeter. "First rule of going on the run is, don't run, walk," Natasha ordered my brother.

His shoulders tensed. "If I run in these shoes, they're gonna fall off," he growled.

We entered an Apple store, which was bustling with people; the perfect cover. Natasha and Steve peered at one of the Mac laptops while I picked up a computer and sent a frantic message to Coulson and his team, telling them about Hydra.

"The drive has a level six homing program," Natasha explained, "so as soon as we boot up, Shield will know exactly where we are."

"How much time do we have?"

"Uh… about nine minutes from…" She hooked the flash drive up the laptop. "… Now."

I began a Google search on the Winter Soldier, typing my commands in in Russian. A few articles came up, but nothing of substance revealed itself until I searched the name alongside my own.

 **"** **Nineteen Killed In Explosion, Perpetrator Apprehended"**

and below,

 **"** **Assassin Escapes From Federal Prison."**

I felt sick. I scanned the news stories, which each were decades old, scans of the originals files under unsolved cases. _The Angel of Death,_ read one. _The Winter Soldier_ , read another. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten—now I was trying to remember everything I could.

I jumped when Natasha spoke again. "Fury was right about that ship, somebody's trying to hide something. This drive is protected by some sort of AI, it keeps rewriting itself to counter my commands."

Steve was antsy, peering over his shoulder at the front door and shifting on his feet. "Can you override it?"

She continued to furiously type. "The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me. Slightly." She breathed out heavily and pursed her lips, keeping her eyes glued to the screen. "I'm gonna try running a tracer. This is a program that Shield developed to track hostile malware, so if we can't read the file, maybe we can find out where it came from."

At that moment, an employee appeared practically from nowhere. "Can I help you guys with anything?" He smiled good naturally from behind a curtain of blond hair.

Natasha immediately latched onto my brother, smiling sappily. "Oh, no. My fiancé was just helping me with some honeymoon destinations."

Steve grinned uncomfortably, and I rolled my eyes at the screen, trying not to look like I was eavesdropping. If we survived this, I needed to teach him how to pretend. "Right! We're getting married."

"Congratulations. Where do you guys thinking about going?" the man probed.

The three of them peered at the screen. "New Jersey," Steve blurted.

I scoffed, and the man glanced at me for a moment. "I'm from Brooklyn," I explained briefly, hardly looking up from the screen. He nodded in understanding and then turned back to my brother, gazing at him with more scrutiny than before. He opened his mouth, a puzzled look on his face, and I tensed. Cover blown, we're gonna die, Rumlow's going to kill us—

"I have the exact same glasses."

I sagged in relief as Natasha turned back to her work, muttering distractedly, "Wow, you two are practically twins."

"Yeah, I wish." He gestured to my brother. "Specimen. Uh...if you guys need anything, I'm Ben Aaron."

"Thank you," Steve called, bending forward to gaze at the screen. I deleted everything from my own computer as they worked. "You said nine minutes, come on," Steve breathed.

Natasha shushed him softly, trying to calm him down. "Relax." She grinned in triumph as I moved lazily to their side of the table, scanning the different Apple products and sneaking glanced at the screen. "Got it." My brother's face went slack, and she frowned. When I caught sight of the location, my heart skipped a beat. "You know it?"

He nodded curtly. "I used to. Let's go." Steve pulled the flash drive from the computer and I followed him out of the store, plugging earbuds into my ears and bobbing my head along to the music I couldn't hear, listening intently to my brother. "Standard tac-team. Two behind, to across, two coming straight at us. If they make us, I'll engage, you hit the south escalator to the metro." I could see two agents making their way conspicuously towards us.

"Shut up and put your arm around me, laugh at something I said."

"What?"

I fell back several paces, walking very close to a young man with blond hair and a red polo, who seemed both surprised and pleased by my sudden closeness, but didn't comment on it. Steve quickly obeyed her, throwing his arm around her shoulders and laughing loudly.

We reached the escalator, and I pulled out my phone, gazing intently at it and watching the reflection like a hawk.

From a couple stair below, I heard Natasha's hissed order, and I almost broke cover in shock. "Kiss me," she ordered my brother.

"What?"

"Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable," she murmured.

"Yes, they do."

Before he could protest, she pulled down Steve's head and kissed him, which made Rumlow look away as he passed us on the escalator going up.

I looked away as well, unused to watching my brother kiss women in front of me. Or at all, really. Natasha turned and sauntered off the escalator. "You still uncomfortable?"

"That's not exactly the word I would use," my brother muttered, reaching behind him and grabbed my hand to pull me along as we exited the mall without incident.

"This one," Natasha pointed to a truck at the edge of the parking lot.

Steve protested until Natasha left her sports car in its place, and only then did he hot-wire the car and climb into the driver's seat. I took up residence in the backseat while Natasha parked herself in the passenger side of the car.

There was about a half hour of total silence, broken only by the occasional, "Put you visor down, it'll block your face from the traffic cameras," or "Take this turn," from Natasha, who, by the time we crossed into New Jersey, had her feet propped up on the dashboard. After we exited the city, however, she talked to me about Coulson and the team, asking about her old mentor. I told her what I could, careful to avoid revealing the source of my scars and other wounds to my brother, and working hard to keep from letting slip about the Winter Soldier and my proximity to him.

Natasha looked up suddenly at my brother. "Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?"

A wry smile twisted my brother's lips. "Nazi Germany."

She hummed, nodding.

"And we're borrowing. Take your feet off the dash."

The spy obeyed, grinning coyly. I watched their exchange in some amusement, trying to drown out the fear I felt for myself and for my fiancé. "Alright, I have a question for you, of which you do not have to answer. I feel like if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know?"

Steve shook his head, looking over at her, and took one of his hands up off the wheel. _"What?"_

"Was that your first kiss since nineteen forty-five?"

I choked—on what, I don't know—and coughed while my brother glared at me through the rearview mirror.

"That bad, huh?"

Natasha shook her head. "I didn't say that."

"Well, it kind of sounds like that's what you're saying."

She shook her head, smiling. "No, I didn't. I just wondered how much practice you had."

"I don't need practice," Steve grumbled.

"Everybody needs practice—"

"It was not my first kiss since nineteen forty-five," Steve answered, staring out the front. "I'm ninety-five, I'm not dead." I felt my heart breaking for him even as my curiosity grew. Whom had he kissed? Peggy? Steve caught my eye in the mirror and flushed, apparently forgetting I was there.

Natasha leaned back in her seat and tilted her head. The light of the setting sun turned her eyes the color of honey. "Nobody special, though?"

Steve chuckled. "Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience."

The spy shrugged. "Well, that's alright, you just make something up."

"What, like you?" Steve countered, his expression serious.

His sharp tone rolled off her like water off a duck's back. "I don't know. The truth is a matter of circumstances, it's not all things to all people all the time." She gave a sad little shrug. "And neither am I."

Steve's expression changed to something resembling pity. "That's a tough way to live."

"It's a good way not to die, though," Natasha sighed. I curled into a smaller ball in my seat, and my gaze dropped to the floor.

"You know, it's kind of hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is," Steve told her, his tone kinder. I inwardly flinched; he had no idea who I was, not really. I was hiding Hydra and James from him, and he didn't even know what all the Angel was capable of…

"Yeah. Who do you want me to be?" Natasha asked, curious.

Steve's answer made my chest ache. "How about a friend?"

The woman beside him laughed softly, her head lolling back against the seat before steadying, gazing at him in a new light. "Well, there's a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers."

By the time we pulled up to the location, the sun was almost gone.

"This is it?" Steve asked.

"The file came from these coordinates," Natasha replied.

I caught sight of the sign that hung from the fence and pointed. Steve nodded jerkily. "So did I."

We stole inside and searched the buildings for a trace of the signal, trying to place it. None of the barracks or other halls held any answers.

Almost two hours later, long after the sun had gone down, Steve spoke again. "This camp is where I was trained."

"Changed much?" Natasha asked, not paying much attention.

Steve stared with no small degree of longing and pain at a bare flagpole that stood a few yards away. "A little."

I rested my hand on his arm, and he jerked out of his daze. "Stevie?"

Natasha shook her head in frustration, placing a hand on her hip. "This is a dead end. Zero heat signature, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off." Steve started walking suddenly, his stride so long that I had to jog to keep up. "What is it?"

"Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards from the barracks. This building is in the wrong place."

Steve smashed through the lock with his shield and led the way inside—flickering lights revealed the large room to be full of desks and chairs. An ancient Shield logo was painted on the far wall.

"This is Shield," Natasha realized.

"Maybe where it started," Steve agreed.

The next room we entered had framed photos of Howard Stark, Peggy and Colonel Phillips. My lips parted as I gazed upon the faces of my old friends, and I turned my face away, suddenly ashamed to stand in front of them. What if they could see me now? See what I'd done?

"There's Stark's father," Natasha pointed out.

"Howard," Steve agreed.

"Who's the girl?" she looked over at Steve, who turned and walked away without replying. I remained where I was, my arms wrapped around myself, until he spoke again.

"If you already working in a secret office…" I followed the sound of his voice and stopped in time to see hi shove a bookcase out of the way to reveal a hidden elevator. "Why do you need to hide the elevator?"

Against my better judgement, I followed the others into the elevator, which went down for a long time before sliding to a stop. The doors opened silently. At the end of the dark room was a set of computers—old computers, nothing as fancy as the laptop I'd seen earlier, but still younger than me.

Natasha strode around the room, disbelieving. "This can't be the data-point, this technology is ancient." I noticed a small, modern flash port about the same time she did, and the smile slid from her face. She tapped the drive for a moment before clicking it into place, awakening the computer system.

"Initiate system?" the computer asked. I jumped back into Steve, who steadied me.

Natasha leaned over the keyboard. "Y-E-S, spells yes." She smiled as the old computer started up. "Shall we play a game?" she asked ominously. I tilted me head to one side, confused, as she turned to my brother. "It's from a movie that—"

My brother nodded and cut her off gently. "Yeah, I saw it."

"Rogers, Steven. Born nineteen twenty." I froze and stared at the computer in horror. I knew that voice. Icy fingers of fear ran down my spine. "Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born nineteen eighty-four." An old camera moved above us as it analyzes our little group. "Rogers, Katherine. Born nineteen twenty-six."

Natasha frowned at the screen as I took a shaky step back. "It's some kind of a recording," she murmured.

"I am not a recording, Fräulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in nineteen forty-five, but I am." An old photo of Arnim Zola appeared on one of the screens, and Steve's grip on my arm tightened.

"Do you know this thing?" Natasha asked, turning to look at my brother.

"Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He's been dead for years," Steve spat, no doubt remembering that it was because of Zola's capture and on Zola's orders that James fell from the train.

I felt sick to my stomach—it wasn't the only thing Zola had done to him—or to me.

The computer hissed in annoyance. "First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In nineteen seventy-two I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body; my mind, however… that was worth saving on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain."

Steve leaned forward, a scowl on his face. "How did you get here?"

"Invited."

Natasha interrupted. "It was Operation Paperclip after World War II; Shield recruited German scientists with… strategic value."

"They thought I could help their cause," Zola agreed. "I also helped my own."

"Hydra died with the Red Skull," Steve barked.

"Cut off one head, two more shall take its place," the computer replied, showing images to go along with its words. I refused to think of the computer as Arnim Zola—doing so might cost me what little sanity I still possessed.

"Prove it."

"Accessing archive." An old video of the Red Skull played across the screen, overshadowed by the Nazi flag. "Hydra was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, Shield was founded and I was recruited. The new Hydra grew: a beautiful parasite inside Shield. For seventy years Hydra has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed."

Scores of images played across the screens as he spoke, and my sharp eyes caught sight of the Winter Soldier's arm, of my wings—my heart dropped.

Natasha's face was pale in horror. "That's impossible, Shield would have stopped you."

"It's not," I breathed. Steve turned to look at me, taking in my wide eyes and too-pale face.

"Accidents will happen," the computer replied, either ignoring or not hearing me. Howard. Maria. Fury—Hydra killed them all. "Hydra created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, Hydra's new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your Life; a zero sum." A wave of fury stole over my brother, and he slammed his fist into the ancient screen, shattering it. It transferred to another and continued to speak. "As I was saying… Katherine, you have been extra quiet this evening. Do you wish to explain any details I have left out—perhaps about your own history with Hydra?"

I thought I might pass out.

Steve leaned forward, ignoring Zola's jabs— _It really is him_ , I thought weakly—and focusing on the problem at hand. "What's on this drive?"

"Project Insight requires… insight. So I wrote an algorithm," the computer complied with my brother's request.

Natasha stepped up, also ignoring Zola's words about me. "What kind of algorithm? What does it do?"

"The answer to your question is _fascinating_. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it." Concrete doors closed over the elevator, blocking us inside, and Steve's shield was thrown too late to try and prop them open.

"Steve, we've got a bogey. Short range missile—thirty seconds tops."

"Who fired it?"

Natasha swallowed."Shield."

"Admit it, it's better this way," Zola said as my brother leapt forward and heaved a metal grate off the ground. "We are all of us… out of time."

I followed him, jumping into the hold after him with Natasha as the bomb struck the building, obliterating it. Something struck me in the head as the earth exploded, and everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

_I peeked over James's shoulder, catching a glimpse of my name written on a piece of paper in front of him. "What are you doing?" I asked, wrapping my arms around his chest and resting my chin against his shoulder._

 _"Just drawing, Angel," he turned his head to face me and grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. His scruff scratched against my cheek, and I pulled away with a smile._

 _"Drawing what?" I asked curiously, leaning over his shoulder to see. "Usually Steve's the one drawing."_

 _James flipped the paper over and caught me around the waist, spinning me around. I squealed, holding fast to his arm, and wrapped my arms around his neck once my feet were firmly on the floor._

 _"Nothin'," he waved his hand vaguely, his eyes twinkling. I lifted an eyebrow, not buying it, and he chuckled. I could feel the vibrations in my own chest, and my heart swelled as blush dusted my cheeks. He winked at me. "It's a surprise, doll," he gave in, letting go of me and crossing the room to pick up the jacket that lay on top of his unmade bed. He pulled it on, wincing slightly as he eased it over his left shoulder._

 _I frowned, instantly concerned, and momentarily forgot about the papers on his desk. "You're hurt." I took a step forward, and he shook his head, moving a step back._

 _"Nah, I'm fine." He smiled at me, but it didn't reach his eyes this time. On the contrary, the way he looked at me, you would've thought that he was staring at me for the last time. My heart dropped, and I bit my lip. "Just sore."_

 _My brow furrowed, and I placed my hands on my hips, my concern for him momentarily outweighing my fear. "Don't lie to me," I said, my voice gentle but firm, meeting his gaze. "You know I can tell when you do."_

 _The corner of his lips twitched, and he caught my hand, pulling me closer to him, and pressed his lips against it briefly. "Thank goodness I never lie to you, then."_

 _I had to crane my neck to look up at him. "Thank goodness," I repeated softly. We stood there for a few minutes, not speaking. My arms were wrapped around his torso, his rested on my back, his chin on my hair. I breathed in his scent—a mixture of pine and gunpowder—and my grip on his jacket tightened. My eyes burned._

 _"I don't think you should go on the mission," we blurted together. James and I pulled away, staring at each other. "What? I'm going," we retorted, frowning._

 _"Katie, you…" he ran his fingers through his hair, knowing how I felt about being sent away. Most assumed the reason was that I was a woman—physically weaker than he and the other soldiers were. Even though it was true, and even though I knew he didn't do that—he was one of the few that believed in me and treated me as though I were equal to them—I still knew that a part of him saw me as delicate, something to be protected and guarded at all cost. And even though a part of me desired that, to be guarded and protected and loved, I still wanted to protect and guard and defend myself…. And so it hurt more than I cared to admit for him to tell me he didn't want me to go. "I need—" he sighed in frustration and changed pace. "I don't want you to get hurt," he finally managed to say. "Alright? I have a feeling that—"_

 _"You think I'll be any better if something happens to you?" I cut him off, my eyes widening. My eyes stung. Around the rest of the world, even my brother, I was like marble: I never cried, I never broke. Around James, I was vulnerable. He had seen me laugh, cry, scream, chase after flocks of birds, sprint headlong into the ocean waves, punch a brick wall in anger—I learned my lesson quickly there—and he loved me for it anyway. Whoever I tried to mask my emotions or force them down, he saw right through me and called me on it._

 _I tried to force down my tears, though, until I had said what I needed to say to him. "James, I don't know what I'd do if you—" the words stuck in my throat, and I looked away, trying to keep from imagining my worst fears come true. James lying unmoving in the snow, bleeding out, blue eyes that stared into nothing set in a too-pale face. Goosebumps raced up my arms, and I hugged myself, feeling my hands begin to shake. "Something is going to happen," I whispered. He'd had a feeling too. Would something happen to both of us, then? Or only one. "I can feel it. Please, don't go."_

 _James took my hands, enveloping them in his, and held them to his chest. His heartbeat drummed steadily against my palms. "Feel that?" he whispered. I stared up at him and nodded. "That's not gonna stop anytime soon. I promise. As long as my heart's beating, I'll love you; I'm not gonna let anything hurt you." He bent down and pressed his lips against mine gently, sealing his promise. "Nothing is gonna happen to me." He hesitated, and I saw the sadness in his eyes._

 _"But you still don't want me to come," I murmured, easily reading his expression._

 _"I don't want anything to happen to you," he correctly, squeezing my hands gently._

 _"Where you go, I go," I reminded him, smiling faintly. My heart ached. "Remember?" I recalled an event that happened years ago, in one of the darkest times of my life, when James made a promise to me that I still held close to my heart. I repeated it back to him now. "I'm with you till the end of the line."_

"Wake up, Katie."

I stirred, rolling a little onto my back—there was something blocking me, like a chair or… someone else. It was warm. "James?" I asked, my voice raspy. I swung my arm back behind me, groping blindly for him, but my hand brushed only coarse fabric.

"No, Katie." The man's voice broke. It wasn't James's voice. "It's Steve."`

"Steve?" The sun was up when I opened my eyes; light spilled into the backseat of he car through the side windows. I blinked, and my brother's features became clearer. I was lying in the backseat of a truck. My head throbbed, and the light burned my eyes. Birds sang loudly outside, and cars honked at one another on the next road over.

"Yeah, Katie. It's me." He squeezed my hand and helped me to sit up. "We're in D.C., but we need you to walk for a while, okay?"

I swayed, almost falling off the seat and into the floorboards of the vehicle. I grasped Steve's forearm firmly, frowning. My head was fuzzy, my memories even more so. I didn't know where I was, or where James was, or why my head hurt this badly. "Where's James?"

"James—" I heard a woman repeat. "Barnes? She's asking about Barnes?"

"She's pretty out of it," Steve replied softly.

As the woman's features swam into focus, her identity became clear, and everything came back to me in a rush. My heart sank, and I closed my eyes against the rush of tears that threatened to spill over. James wasn't here. "Nevermind," I whispered, resting my head against the side of the seat.

"It'll be alright, kiddo." I felt my brother pick me up, and I felt like a sack of potatoes in his arms as he carried me to wherever we were going. After nearly half an hour of walking—apparently we'd had to ditch our vehicle for safety reasons—we stopped. Once he was confident I could stand on my own, Steve set me on my feet and led the way up the stairs to a pair of sliding glass doors. He knocked.

A minute later, the door slid open to reveal a familiar face.

"Hey, man," Sam glanced between the three of us, confused. He was wearing a damp running shirt as though he'd just got back from a jog, and sweat was beaded on his forehead; he was still slightly out of breath.

"I'm sorry about this," Steve started. "We need a place to lay low."

"Everyone we know is trying to kill us," Natasha breathed, leaning heavily against my brother. Now that I got a good look at her, it was clear that she wasn't doing well—soot smeared her fair skin, and I could see a dark bruise peeping out from beneath her hairline.

Sam glanced at me and then nodded and stepped aside. "Not everyone."

Sam led me to the couch and sat me down—apparently I'd been the most hurt out of the ordeal at Camp Lehigh. He went to the kitchen and came back with a can of Sprite and bag of frozen peas wrapped in a clean dishtowel, which he instructed me to hold to my head. Steve and Natasha had occupied one of the bedrooms and bathrooms to clean up, and I eavesdropped a little as I closed my eyes and willed my head to stop hurting. I swallowed back tears, willing myself not to cry. When I woke up, there were a few seconds where I thought—I could've sworn that—I was home. Back in the 40s, in mine and Steve's apartment, with James. There'd been a time when I was so active that I couldn't go two weeks without having some injury, and more often that not I woke up disoriented, only to find James asleep on the couch in the living room or propped up over a mug of tea in the kitchen. To wake up like that, then realize everything I'd lost…

"You okay?" I heard Steve ask. I twisted back over the couch to catch a glimpse of him standing in the doorway talking to Natasha, who was squeezing the water out of her frizzy hair.

"Yeah," the woman replied softly.

"What's going on?"

The woman was silent for so long that I thought she hadn't heard him. "When I first joined Shield, I thought it was going straight." Her voice cracked. "But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra. I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but… I guess I can't tell the difference anymore."

I stared down at the ground for a long while, my heart clenching. I'd known. I just hadn't trusted her enough to tell her—just like Steve hadn't trusted me enough to listen to me when I'd warned him.

"There's a chance you might be in the wrong business." Steve repeated her words back to her.

Her reply was so faint that I barely heard it. "I owe you."

"It's okay," he whispered.

"If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, can you be honest with me? Would you trust me to do it?"

"I would now." I heard his smile in his voice. "And I'm always honest."

Natasha's tone changed, and I could hear the joy she felt at having a friend. "Well, you seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothing."

Steve sighed, and my heart sank. "Well, I guess I just like to know who I'm fighting."

Sam crossed the room and leaned against their doorway. "I made breakfast. If you guys eat that sort of thing."

Steve came and sat beside me as Natasha followed Sam into the kitchen.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

I shrugged, staring at the ground. "As I was saying… Katherine, you have been extra quiet this evening. Do you wish to explain any details I have left out—perhaps about your own history with Hydra?"

"I know it's hard," Steve told me after a minute. I glanced up, confused as to what he was talking about. "But… but it gets easier."

"Steve, what are you talking about?" I asked, frowning.

His brows drew together, and he swallowed. "Bucky."

I don't know what my expression looked like, but Steve's reaction was kind. He took my hand, holding it tightly. "I know you loved him; I did too, but—"

"Steve, it—it's not about James," I whispered. Just the sound of his name on my lips brought me close to tears. Living without him was like living with a constant, bleeding wound. I knew it might eventually heal… but it might kill me first, too.

Steve stared at me for a second before comprehension dawned on his face. "Zola."

I nodded.

"Don't listen to him." Steve didn't ask what Zola had been talking about. "He was just trying to get under your skin."

It had worked. I swallowed hard. "Steve?" He nodded. Since we were already on the topic… "Do you remember, before I left to work with Coulson—I talked to you about something."

His expression fell. "Yeah."

"About Hydra."

"I didn't want to believe you. I do now."

"I told you that I was proof that Hydra was still around—"

"And I told you that it doesn't matter. You aren't Hydra, even if you worked for them once."

"With them," I whispered. "For a long time. And I—" the words stuck in my throat.

His brow furrowed in confusion, but before either of us could say anything else, Natasha's voice floated through the house. "Breakfast is getting cold."

"We'll finish talking later, kiddo." Steve squeezed my hand before getting up and entering the kitchen, leaving me to follow, my heart even heavier than before. Breakfast was delicious and plentiful, and only after everyone had eaten their fill did Natasha push back her plate and get back to the matter at hand.

"So, the question is: who in Shield could launch a domestic missile strike?" Clearly she was not over the attempted assassination, courtesy of her previous employers.

"Pierce," I answered at the same moment as my brother. We locked eyes, and both hastily looked away. I wondered if he was remembering how I'd reacted to seeing Pierce at the Triskellion, how Steve hadn't understood why I was so afraid. I hoped he wasn't kicking himself now; none of it had been his fault, although I did wish he had trusted me before I'd been force to flee the country.

"Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world," Natasha added, leaning back in her chair and tugging absently on a strand of perfectly straightened hair.

Steve shook his head adamantly. "But he's not working alone, Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star."

Natasha's lips parted, and her eyes flashed with anger even though her voice remained calm. "So was Jasper Sitwell."

The tension and complete level of done in the room was so strong that I almost got up from the table and went outside. "So, the real question is: how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a Shield officer in broad daylight?"

"Three," I deadpanned, reminding them that even though my hair had been changed, there was still a standing order for my capture or execution.

Sam appeared from a side room, a thick folder clutched in one hand, and stopped in front of the table. "The answer is: you don't." He dropped the file heavily onto the table.

Steve glanced down at it and then up at his friend, confused. "What's this?"

Sam crossed his arms, uncomfortable. "Call it a resume."

I opened the file gingerly, knowing from experience how personal information often was, especially about military pasts. Natasha picked up a photo of Sam—standing beside him was a tall, grinning man with sandy hair.

Natasha blinked. "Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you." She glanced at Steve after nodding in reference to Sam. "You didn't say he was a para-rescue."

"Is this Riley?" Steve asked. I looked down sharply at the photo again, and my heart clenched. The smiling man—Riley. The one who'd been shot out of the sky.

"Yeah."

"I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs," Natasha continued, displaying her unique ability to remember even the smallest details about multiple, otherwise insignificant missions. "What did you use, a stealth chute?"

"No. These." Sam handed Steve the file, and my brother picked it up, flipping it open. He scanned the information for a moment before looking up at Sam in disbelief and respect.

"I thought you said you were a pilot."

Sam grinned. "I never said pilot."

After a moment of deliberation, Steve shook his head. "I can't ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason."

Sam shook his head. "Dude, Captain America needs my help. There's no better reason to get back in."

Steve glanced at Natasha and I. As much as I didn't want to involve Sam—I didn't want any innocents getting hurt because of me—I knew that we wouldn't do this on our own. In the 40s, we'd had the U.S. military backing us. We had weapons, friends, information. Now, we were in the dark. We didn't know who our friends were from our enemies, and we were hiding out in an almost stranger's home because we had nowhere else to go—though, to be fair, the stranger was proving to be more of a loyal friend than most of the people at Shield. We had nothing, no choice. Maybe Sam was the only chance we had.

"Where can we get our hands on one of these things?"

Sam pursed his lips. "The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall."

Steve glanced at Natasha, who shrugged, and then at me. I smiled ruefully. "Should be fun."

Steve slapped the folder back down on the table. "Shouldn't be a problem."


	7. Chapter 7

"You should stay in the car," Sam told me as we pulled up beside a series of restaurants.

We were waiting for Jasper Sitwell, who was having lunch with another known member of Hydra. I didn't argue this time—we'd broken Sam's equipment out of Fort Meade a few hours ago, and I was sporting a cut in my left arm where a bullet had grazed me. I waved the man off, nodding.

Sam stepped out, leaving his gear behind, and ordered a drink from the nearest shop. He sat down in the shade, setting his sunglasses on his face, and waited. I settled down, a pencil in my hand, and started to draw. I wasn't drawing for fun, see. My brother and I both had been gifted with this particular ability, and I was using it to my advantage—drawing my surroundings. I'd have to notice details, and that way I'd notice if anything was out of place—a sniper, for example, or someone who refused to turn the page on their magazine for a suspiciously long time.

Nothing. No Winter Soldier, at least. I swallowed, breathing out. What if I had to face him?

"Sitwell is leaving the building," I murmured into the comms. I heard the others mutter in confirmation that _yes, they'd heard me._

He spoke with the other man, their words inaudible even to me from this distance. Sitwell's friend embraced him, then left, limping slightly. A few guards followed, but some remained with Sitwell… at least until his phone rang. He glanced down at the caller ID, then ordered his men away.

Sam's voice came on over the comms I had pressed into my left ear, and I scowled at the bald man he spoke to. _"Agent Sitwell, how was lunch? I hear the crab cakes here are delicious."_

The man was instantly on guard. I could hear him through Sam's comms, and through the phone. He looked nervous. _"Who is this?"_

 _"_ _The good looking guy in the sunglasses, your ten o'clock."_ Sitwell looked around frantically, scanning the street but completely missing Sam. _"Your other ten o'clock."_ Sitwell finally locked eyes on him. Mine narrowed, and my fingers closed around the gun that rested in my lap, just incase something went wrong. _"There you go."_

Sitwell glared at him. _"What do you want?"_

 _"_ _You're gonna go around the corner, to your right. There's a grey car, two spaces down. You and I are gonna take a ride."_

Sitwell glanced around for the car in question, then looked back at Sam. At the same moment, a small red light appeared on his chest. _"And why would I do that?"_

Sam's answer was a growl. _"Because that tie looks really expensive, and I'd hate to mess it up."_

Sitwell panicked, scanning the horizon for the shooter, then followed Sam's instructions to the car. When he was about twenty feet away, I stepped out and held the door open for him. When he saw me, I thought he'd pass out. He actually stopped in his tracks, staring at me blankly. The hair obviously threw him off, but it was only a few seconds before my identity registered, and he panicked—it was clear that Hydra knew who I was. He made to turn around, only to run into Sam's gun. Sam was taller and larger than he was, and also armed, leaving him no choice but to enter the car, although he pressed himself as far away from me as possible. He sat behind the shotgun seat.

As Sam moved around the car to the front, I settled in beside Sitwell, keeping my gun in my lap pointed at him and sitting directly behind Sam. "Jasper," I purred, giving him a deadly smile. Sam slid into the driver's seat as Sitwell's face drained of color. "I have some questions that need answering."

Sam pulled into traffic and started driving—Steve and Natasha would only be a few minutes away.

"I don't know anything."

"Oh, I think you do." My tone changed drastically, and my grip on the gun tightened. "Tell me everything that you know about the Winter Soldier."

His lips moved soundlessly for a few moments before he finally answered. "The Winter Soldier?"

His terrified expression confirmed what I'd thought—he knew who James was. Rage burned so strongly within me that I thought the Angel would take over. Sam glanced back in the mirror. "What're you doing, Katie?"

"Tell me what you know about him."

 _"_ _Katie, what are you doing?"_ Steve asked me.

"I've never heard of the Winter Soldier. What is it?"

"You know _exactly_ who he is," I snarled, dropping all façades. Sitwell shrank back from me, terrified.

 _"_ _Katie, that's enough!"_ Steve barked, silencing me. Sitwell stared at me in mute terror, unable to hear my brother's words. _"Whomever the Winter Soldier is, we'll find him. He's not important now."_

Sam dropped Sitwell and I off at the final location then went to park and change into his armor. I marched Sitwell inside, where I mat my brother and Natasha—they took over from there.

"Tell me about Zola's algorithm," Steve ordered, striding towards Sitwell on the roof. Sitwell stumbled backwards on the gravel.

"Never heard of it."

My brother continued. "What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?"

"I was throwing up, I get seasick." My brother forced Sitwell to the edge of the roof; he started to fall backwards, and Steve caught the front of his jacket.

Sitwell smiled grimly; it was apparent that he feared his brother far less than he feared me. "Is all this meant to insinuate that you're going to throw me off the roof? 'Cause it's really not your style, Rogers."

Steve nodded, and I grinned. "You're right. It's not." He smoothed out the creases on Sitwell's tux from where he'd bunched it up. He looked back at Sitwell and nodded. "It's hers."

Steve stepped aside, and I caught a brief flash of the terror that swept over Sitwell's face when he caught sight of Natasha just before she kicked him off the roof. He plummeted towards the ground, screaming.

Natasha snapped her fingers, frowning. "Oh, wait. What about that girl from accounting, L-Laura…?"

Steve tucked his hands in his pockets. "Lillian. Lip piercing, right?"

Natasha grinned. "Yeah, she's cute."

"Yeah, I'm not ready for that." San shot up from the abyss, holding Sitwell, and dropped him onto the roof. He landed, and his metal wingers folded into their jetpack. Steve looked immensely relieved at the interruption. When Natasha moved towards Sitwell, he lifted his hands in fear.

"Zola's algorithm is a program—for choosing—Insight's targets!"

I frowned. "What targets?"

Sitwell gasped. "You! Your sister, a TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa city." He gasped for breath. "Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to Hydra! Now, or in the future."

Steve started. "The Future? How could it know?"

Sitwell laughed humorlessly. "How could it not? The 21st century is a digital book. Zola taught Hydra how to read it." I stared at him in confusion, and he elaborated. "Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e-mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores. Zola's algorithm evaluates peoples' past to predict their future."

Steve tilted his head. "And what then?"

What little color remained in Sitwell's face left it. "Oh, my God. Pierce is gonna kill me."

"What then?!" Steve pressed. Sam's fist tightened on Sitwell's jacket.

Sitwell swallowed. "Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time."

It was all I could do to keep from pitching him off the roof. Steve managed to restrain me, and we al made it back down to the car in one piece. Natasha and I sat in the back, me in the middle, Sitwell on my left. We sped towards D.C., heading straight for the Triskellion.

Sitwell fidgeted. "HYDRA doesn't like leaks."

Sam glared at him through the rearview. "So why don't you try sticking a cork in it."

Natasha leaned forward to speak to the men up front, and I leaned back into the seat, my arms crossed. "Insight's launching in sixteen hours, we're cutting it a little bit close here."

Steve nodded. "I know. We'll use him to bypass the DNA scans and access the Helicarriers directly."

Sitwell stared at him. "What?! Are you crazy?" The others rolled their eyes in frustration and annoyance. "That is a terrible, terrible idea."

The following moments were a blur. The window to my left shattered, and an arm shot into the car, grabbed Sitwell, and threw him screaming across several lanes of traffic, where he was struck and killed by an oncoming truck.

"No!" I lurched forward, and Natasha yanked me back, tossing me into the floorboards as the man climbed onto the roof of the car. I struggled, frantic, and Natasha slapped me. I started, caught sight of the look in her eyes, and stopped fighting her. Sitwell was my one link to James, my one chance at finding out where he was—but he was gone. Natasha scrambled up front, pulling my brother and Sam out of the way of several kill-shots. The next thing I knew, the car had slammed on its breaks, throwing me forward against the seats and throwing someone else off the roof. I sat up and leaned forward, staring in horrified silence out the front window. A man in all black was rising to his feet, shaking concrete out of the plates of his metal hand—the grooves where his fingers had dug into the road stretched a good twenty yards long. Dark, unkempt hair hung loose around his face, and a dark mask and goggles obscured all but his forehead from view.

Cars swerved around us, intent on avoiding a collision, but no one in our car paid any mind to them. "Natasha, NO!" I reached to pull the assassin's arm up, to keep her from shooting him, but something slammed into the car from the back, sending me into the front seat of the car and propelling our little car along in front of it. Natasha's gun fell into the floorboards, leaving her to scramble to grab hold of it. Steve caught hold of my waist just in time to keep me from flying out the front windshield—the Winter Soldier leapt up and landed on the top of the car, his feet striking and chatting the back windshield as he did so. Sam slammed on the brakes and tried frantically to maintain control of the car—the tires squealed violently against the pavement. Before I could give a warning—to Steve, to Natasha, to Sam—the Winter Soldier smashed though the windshield and tore the steering wheel free, leaving us stranded.

My heart leapt into my throat, choking off my strangled cry.

Sam twisted around to look up at the ceiling. "Shit!"

Natasha shot blindly into the ceiling, but he leapt onto the car behind ours as Sam lost control. Our car ran into another one to our left and careened towards the median—the tank behind us hit the back of the car, and it flew to one side, twisting up the median and into the air. "Hang on!" Steve's grip on me tightened, he grabbed Sam, who wrapped his arms around Natasha and I as the car flipped and Steve tore the door off its hinges. We fell, me crushed between the other three. I held onto my brother for dear life. We slid, skidding across the concrete on a metal shield. Sparks flew up behind us, and Sam fell off, rolling down the road. I fell off, landing hard on my side, and rolled a few yards before struggling to my feet and immediately diving behind a stationary vehicle to avoid being shot. Bullets ricocheted off my makeshift shelter—I peeked around the edge in time to see Steve held his shield up in front of him to avoid being struck by a grenade, which instead blew him off the bridge. I didn't see where he went, though I heard the sound of a great crash, then the sound of cars honking frantically at one another. Pained and panicked screams filled the air.

Sam and Natasha joined me behind the car, but when machine guns opened fire, we scattered. Each hid behind a separate vehicle, ducking down to avoid being riddled by bullets as Hydra advanced on us. Natasha returned fire and leapt over the median as the car she hid behind exploded.

I pressed close to my car, gritting my teeth. There was a break in the gunfire— "James, it's me!"

I moved out of the way just in time to avoid being blown up as well—the Winter Soldier had launched a grenade straight at me. Some of the gunfire was drawn away from me, focusing on Natasha as she ran, returning fire when she could.

I watched in horror as he sent another grenade at her—the car that was her shelter went up in flames, and she disappeared from the bridge.

 _"_ _NO!"_ I scrambled forward, finally remembering the gun I had tucked into my waistband an hour before. I took aim at the Hydra agents as I sprinted to another cover, purposefully avoiding taking any shots at James. The glass beside my face exploded, and shards dug into my shoulder as I fell down, curling into a small ball. Gunfire ceased—then a single shot was fired, and the Winter Soldier staggered back. Four more shots fired in rapid succession—Natasha was firing up at him.

I watched from under the car as the Winter Soldier fell back—he tore off his goggles, and for the briefest moment I caught sight of the barest flash of blue before and stood and then returned fire, not bothering to avoid the citizens who were screaming down below.

One—Natasha fired again, then fired six more times. It didn't stop him—he continued to fire upon the streets down below. I twisted, shooting to my feet, and fired on the soldiers—one of the agents fell, then another. The others took cover, but not him. A single shot ricocheted of his metal arm, grabbing his attention. His blue eyes flashed to me, freezing me where I stood.

"James," I whispered. He advanced on me, and I raised my voice, scrambling backwards. "James, it's me! It's Katie, James, _please!_ "

He paused for the barest fraction of a second, his eyes dropping down. My heart leapt for a split second, and the next, the Angel's voice was filling my head.

 _Go. Get out of here, go!_

For once, the Angel was right—and I listened. She was made to survive, but neither of us could harm James, and so our only option was to run. Without giving it a second thought, I turned and leapt over the side of the bridge, falling several stories but landing in a roll and coming up on my feet—at the same time I jumped, the Winter Soldier opened fire. I took off in a dead sprint.

The sound of shattering glass exploded behind me, and I glanced back in time to see the Winter Soldier sauntering off the roof of a car he'd just landed on, heading straight towards me. I went into turbo mode, flying faster on my feet than I had since I lost my wings, and then tripped—I rolled and ended up under a stalled truck, panting. I covered my mouth with both hands, startled—I hadn't had trouble breathing in decades.

Natasha's voice reached my ears, and I glanced over in time to glimpse a recording device replaying its message. "Civilians threatened. I make an LZ, twenty-three hundred block at Virginia Avenue. Rendezvous two minutes."

I scrambled on my stomach away from it and froze beside the tire, having just heard the Winter Soldier on the other side of the vehicle. The sound of metal on concrete echoed through the chilling silence, and I broke out in a dead sprint as the device exploded behind me. The energy from the blast sent me sprawling, and I groaned, rolling over onto my right side, my elbow tucked against my rib cage. Gravel dug into the curve of my wrist, rubbing my skin raw. I rolled onto my back in time to see the Winter Soldier's fist descending towards my head—I lurched to one side, narrowly avoiding having my head bashed in, and kicked up, catching him under the chin. He staggered back, glaring darkly at me.

My heart was in my throat. _Please, please, please—_

James lunged forward, eyes burning, and I leapt back, narrowly avoiding his fists but catching the tip of his blade on my ribs. I hissed in pain and snarled at him, dancing around him as he continued to charge at me.

"James, I don't want to fight you—" He backhanded me, and my shoulders slammed into the pavement as my lip split. I rolled backwards and continued to fight, remembering all my training, all the years of torment that went into making me who I was—and I pressed him back. "But I will if I have to."

The Winter Soldier kicked out, and his foot made contact with my knee, bringing me down. In the next moment, Steve appeared out of nowhere, attacking him. I scrambled back as quickly as I could, ending up in a patch of grass in front of a bank. From there I could see the two men fight—Steve almost caught James with the fallen knife—I screamed for him to stop, not thinking. Steve looked over at me and almost lost his life for it—

After what felt like forever, I saw Steve throw the Winter Soldier over his shoulder, tearing his mask off in the process. The mask hit the ground, revealing James's achingly familiar face, and Steve froze. The men faced each other, unmoving, and I dragged myself up against a tree, struggling to stand. It wasn't because of my knee; he hadn't made direct contact, not enough to keep me down—I had frozen in fear.

Steve looked as though he'd just walked through a war zone. "Bucky?"

"Who the hell is Bucky?" James made to move forward, and his words broke my heart—but not as much as the heartbroken, betrayed look that Steve gave me when he realized that _I knew; I knew and I hadn't told him._


	8. Chapter 8

James made to move forward, raising his gun to shoot Steve—but a grenade landed nearby and exploded, distracting him. The next moments were a blur. The Winter Soldier disappeared, but the rest of Hydra swooped in, grabbing Sam and Natasha. A dark haired man in all black made to force Steve to the ground.

"Drop the shield, Captain! On your knees! Get on your knees! Now! Get down! Get down!" He bellowed. Steve held his hands up, barely responsive. "Get on your knees! Down!" He kicked the back of Steve's leg, and my brother knelt down, resting his hands on the back of his head. "Don't move."

Another agent moved the barrel of his gun closer to Steve's head, about to execute him.

The paralysis that had gripped me let go, and I darted forward. I got to the curb and sprinted into the street, narrowly avoiding an incoming Hummer—I threw a man out of my way, and another caught me around the waist.

"Stop it!" I screamed, thrusting my elbow back and catching the man in the throat. He choked and went down, his grip on me relaxing. "Stop it!"

More agents converged on me, holding me down, and used heavy-duty bolts to shackle my arms together behind my back from elbow to wrist. I fought furiously, kicking so violently that the men holding me were briefly holding me off the ground. I saw Steve being shoved into the back of a van, and Sam and Natasha were nowhere to be seen.

The man who had brought my brother down grabbed my hair and forced my head back. "I know you," he muttered. A gleam came into his eye. "Rogers. I know someone who's been looking for you." He looked up, letting go of me. "Put her with the others!"

I kicked and fought the whole time I was carried towards the van, and I only stopped when one of the soldiers jabbed me with his taser. My knees curled to my chest as I screamed, and I went limp, sagging back into my seat as the door slammed shut.

The van started to move, jolting me a little, and I leaned forward to press my head against my knees, my arms twisting painfully behind me. My mouth tasted like tinfoil. It felt like a lifetime before Steve finally spoke.

"It was him." Steve stared straight ahead, looking at nothing. "He looked right at me and he didn't even know me."

I stared down at the floor, afraid to look at my brother and see the accusation in his eyes. I knew it was coming—if we didn't die, we were going to have a long, painful talk about everything I'd hidden from him.

Sam shook his head. "How's that even possible? It was like seventy years ago."

"Zola. Bucky's whole unit was captured in forty-three, Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did, it helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him…" I turned my head and glanced up at him as his voice cracked.

"None of that's your fault, Steve," Natasha slurred, keeping her eyes shut tight.

"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky." Steve snapped out of it a little and looked straight at me. The breathe left my lungs, and I froze, feeling very vulnerable with my arms twisted back, leaving me completely defenseless. I sat straight up, suddenly liking the idea of jumping out of the back of a moving van. "You knew." The words were barely more than a growl.

I swallowed and nodded and let out a shaky breath. "Yes."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to me."

"I've ne—" The words I'd always said back stuck in my throat, and my eyes filled with tears as my throat closed up. My chest burned from where the Winter Soldier had slashed his knife across my ribs. I didn't want to lie. I hadn't meant to, I'd tried to tell him—I wasn't like him, I wasn't righteous or pure, I'd killed—I had a damn demon living inside my head— "I—Steve—"

"We need to get a doctor here," Sam interrupted, his attention on Natasha. "We don't put pressure on that wound she's gonna bleed out here in the truck." One of the guards turned on an electric rod in response, and white energy shot up the weapon. I flinched back—the taser turned back on, but the guard holding it used it to take out the other soldier, knocking him out. The guard pulled off her helmet, revealing a disheveled Maria Hill, who I knew by appearance but—to the best of my knowledge—had never met.

"That thing was squeezing my brain." She glanced at Sam, frowned, and then looked at Steve. "Who's this guy?"

"Sam," Steve answered, sitting forward. Maria removed his shackles and got to work on cutting a hole in the floor of the van.

"Steve," I tried, struggling to get him to just look at me, talk to me, please—

"I don't want to hear it."

I had to explain. "Steve—"

"Katherine, enough!" his shout made me shrink back, shaken to the core. Decades of training fell away, leaving me a scared little girl whose only family had just cast her aside. I opened and closed my mouth silently, unable to produce any sound. The others glanced pitying in my direction, and I swallowed.

"I'm s—" the tears came again, and I forced them back, trying to speak around the acidic lump that had risen in my throat. "I'm so sor—"

"Rogers, go." Hill pushed me out next, and I hit the ground beneath the truck, rolling against the rough pavement. The concrete chafed against the glass fragments in my cheek, and a whimper rose in my throat as my bound arms twisted unnaturally behind my back. Sam, shackles gone, pulled me up from the street and quickly led me into the trees that lined the street. A van was waiting, and Agent Hill removed my binds as soon as we were inside.

I sat beside Natasha as Hill sped along, intent on getting help. I kept a thick cloth pressed against the bullet wound, mindful of the blood she had lost and trying to keep her from blooding out beside me. Meanwhile, I felt blood trickling down my own cheek from where glass had become imbedded in my skin from the window exploding—and my eye was swelling shut from where James had struck me.

I touched my throbbing cheek with the hand that wasn't tending to Natasha's wound. James was here—and he'd hit me. But before that, something had happened. He'd paused, even for a small second, he'd hesitated. And—I knew his fighting style very well; we'd trained together for decades—he'd been pulling his punches. The thought gave me hope, but it also filled me with dread… because if I knew James's fighting style after all these years of being away from him, I knew that his 'handlers' would know it as well—and they'd know that he hadn't brought me down when he could have. Natasha reached over and squeezed my hand weakly, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

The van slowed, then stopped. As soon as Hill threw the van into park, Steve practically threw himself out of the car, leaving Sam and I to escort Natasha—or Sam, rather, since by the time I stepped out of the van, one side of my face was so swollen and bloody that I could barely see.

"Come on." Someone grabbed hold of my arm and guided me forward. "It's through here."

Whoever had hold of my arm began jogging, and I moved to keep up, wincing at the growing pain in my leg from where the Winter Soldier had tried to take me down.

I glanced around with my working eye—we were in a damp concrete tunnel lit with yellow lights. My feet landed in puddles every few steps. My knee buckled, and someone caught me up in their arms before I could hit the ground.

"GSW, Romanoff's lost at least a pint," Agent Hill called.

"Maybe two!" Sam added—his voice was right above me—he was the one carrying me, not Steve.

Hill continued. "Rogers has glass to the face, fractured cheekbone, dislocated knee."

"Damn," Sam muttered. A choked laugh escaped me lips, and I grunted in pain as my cheeks stretched against the glass embedded there.

"Let me take her!" A new voice called.

"She'll want to see him first," Hill called.

We stopped, and I heard a very familiar voice speak. "About damn time."

"Fury's alive?" I breathed. A few voices muttered in affirmation, and I nodded blindly. "Fantastic. Welcome back. I was sorry to hear that you'd died."

"I appreciate your concern," came his dry reply. "Sit down, get cleaned up."

Sam set me down in a chair, and a few moments later, someone began probing at my cheek; I felt a quick jab of pain, and then a relief as the glass was extracted. This process was repeated for almost an hour as Fury spoke—someone else wrapped my knee tightly in gauze and ice.

"Lacerated spinal column, cracked sternum, shattered collarbone, perforated liver, one hell of a headache," Fury listed off his injuries.

"Don't forget your collapsed lung," the doctor added.

"Oh, let's not forget that," Fury grunted dryly. "Otherwise, I'm good."

"They cut you open, your heart stopped." Natasha sounded hurt, something that surprised me—had I been able to see properly, I could have been curious to see what her expression was—I knew how much she trusted and respected Fury… I wondered how she felt to not be trusted by him. Probably about how I felt about Steve not trusting me.

"Tetrodotoxin B.," Fury explained. "Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn't work so great for him, but we found a use for it."

Whoever was tending to my face ran a damp cloth over it—all the shards were gone; nothing jabbed at my skin at the movement. He began cleaning the blood off my face with a cloth drenched in rubbing alcohol—I could smell the stench coming of of it—, and the tiny cuts on my face burned at the contact. My nails dug into the leather arms of the chair, and Sam murmured words of comfort as Steve finally spoke. "Why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?"

Hill explained. "Any attempt on the director's life had to look successful."

"Can't kill you if you're already dead," Fury deadpanned. "Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust."

There were a few beats of silence, then Sam spoke. "I think Katie has a concussion," he said. "I need some ice for her head, and she needs to lie down." He took a breath. "She doesn't need to join us in the field again."

"What?" I blinked at him and peered up into his face with the eyes that wasn't covered by cloth. "No, I can't just stay here."

"And why not?" Fury turned his attention on me. "I got a few scratches and had to sit out, now it's your turn."

"You didn't have a good reason for going back," I shot back. "I do."

"Bucky." I flinched at my brother's tone. "You want to save him."

"Don't you?" I turned my good eye on him, ignoring Sam's murmured instructions for me to sit still. "He's still in there, Steve, I know he is—"

"How long have you known that he's been alive?"

"That's a complicated answer."

"Un-complicate it."

I rubbed my eye and took a deep breath through my nose, trying to calm the panic I felt rising within me. "Sometime in the sixties, I think, James managed to break through whatever they did to me. I did the same to him. They wiped me—I forgot him for a long time. In the nineties, he broke me out of Hydra; I didn't realize it was him until much later, but I didn't remember any of my past until he tried to kill me a couple years ago—a couple days after you found me. I didn't… start remembering until then, and right after, Hydra captured me and tortured me." I licked my lips. "They wiped me. I didn't know that James was alive until a couple weeks ago when I was captured in Russia. He was the one who captured me, the one who was ordered to put me down. He didn't."

"You think they wiped him?" Steve asked. "What does that mean? Why doesn't he remember who he is?"

"They electrocuted me," I breathed, touching the faint scars on my face. "The shock, it scrambles your mind—and they have these words…" I swallowed. "It's not fun. And I know they wiped him."

"You should have told me."

"I didn't know how."

"Enough." I looked over at Fury, who was sitting up in bed, groaning. "We can discuss this later; right now we have more pressing issues." We moved Fury to a table, where he was able to sit up straight—the old man was stronger than I'd given him credit for.

He hold up an aged photo of Pierce, and I glared at it—this was the man I remembered torturing me. "This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize. He said, 'Peace wasn't an achievement, it was a responsibility.'" Fury set the photo down and jabbed at it with his finger. "See, it's stuff like this that gives me trust issues."

"We have to stop the launch," Natasha interrupted, crossing her arms.

Fury sat back in his chair. "I don't think the Council's accepting my calls anymore…" He flipped open a dark briefcase, inside of which rested three blue-green computer chips.

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"Once the Helicarriers reach three thousand feet," Agent Hill explained, "they'll triangulate with Insight satellites, becoming fully weaponized."

Fury finished her statements effortlessly. "We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own."

"One or two won't cut it," Hill continued. "We need to link all three carriers for this to work, because if even one of those ships remains operational… a whole lot of people are gonna die."

Fury nodded. "We have to assume everyone aboard those carriers is Hydra. We need to get pass them, insert the server blades, and maybe, just maybe, we can salvage what's left…"

Steve cut Fury off. "We're not salvaging anything. We're not just taking down the carriers, Nick, we're taking down Shield."

Nick fought my brother. "Shield had nothing to do with it—"

"Shield had everything to do with it," I broke in angrily. The others turned to look at me. "I've been with Hydra for decades," I said, lowering my voice. "I've seen them evolve… helped them evolve. They're a camcer—they hide, they go where you can't see, and they spread everywhere. The only way to get rid of them is to get rid of everything they're a part of."

Steve nodded in agreement and looked back at Fury. "You gave me this mission, this is how it ends. Shield's been compromised, you've said so yourself. Hydra was right under your nose and nobody noticed."

Nick, though somewhat moved by my speech, wasn't going down without a fight. "Why do you think we're meeting in this cave? I noticed."

"And how many paid the price before you did?" Steve asked bitterly.

Fury looked down. "Look, I didn't know about Barnes."

Steve shook his head. "Even if you have, would you have told me? Or would you have compartmentalized that too?" My brother looked me straight in the eye, and I forced myself not to look away. My chest ached. Couldn't he understand why I'd done what I'd done? Didn't he understand that I'd tried to tell him, that I'd tried to warn him—that I had told him about Hydra, and he hadn't listened, so why would he have believed me about James as well? He looked away. "Shield, Hydra, it all goes."

Hill nodded. "He's right."

Sam chuckled softly and pressed a pack of ice to my throbbing cheekbone. "Don't look at me. I do what he does, just slower."

Fury let out a long breath. "Well… Looks like you're giving the orders now, Captain."

I limped outside the building and leaned against the low wall of the bridge, not wanted to remain and hear the others work out a plan. When they had one, they'd tell me: until then, I wanted some peace and quiet. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, sliding down the wall and stretching out my leg in front of me. It was peaceful out here—the cool air, the trickle of water, the sound the the birds in the—

"Katie."

I opened one eye and turned it on my brother, who was standing a few yards away with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the river. He swallowed and stared at his feet for a moment.

"What are they doing to him?" he asked me, still not looking me in the eye.

A lump rose in my throat, and I sniffed in an attempt to force back the sudden onslaught of tears. I couldn't lose it, not here. If I lost control at all, it would be after it was all over. "He stopped," I breathed, swallowing again. "He stopped for a second when I said—when you said his name. He stopped. Something inside him… something about you reached him."

"You mean he remembered me?" Steve's expression lit up.

I tried to remember when I'd first begun to remember James, back in the sixties, when we were on a mission. I had been so confused at the time, and it was only after I'd been detained that I realized that I knew him—that I called his name. And they'd wiped me for it.

"No. But you touched him," I corrected softly. A single tear escaped my grasp and dripped down my cheek, burning the tiny cuts that marked my skin. My next words were so soft, Steve didn't hear me—they were swept away on the wind before they could reach his ears. "And now he's going to be wiped because of me."


	9. Chapter 9

I grabbed onto the sleeve of his uniform, and I was strong enough to hold him in place. I practically stamped my foot in frustration. "Steve, I want to help you!"

Steve wrenched his arm away and grabbed onto my shoulders, shaking me slightly. "You can't fly anymore, Katie! There's no way for you to get up there, and I'm not risking your safety. If you want to help, stay in the Triskelion and try and keep the Helicarriers grounded, alright?"

After almost a full minute of glaring at one another, I finally nodded, and Steve let go of me. He had spent the last hour going over the plan and perfecting it—I was going to have a bigger part to play until I mentioned the Angel's instability. I hadn't had an issue in a few weeks, I'd explained, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't make an appearance. As soon as I'd revealed that bit of information, Steve had all but cut me from the roster.

"Alright." Sam glanced between the two of us, raising an eyebrow. "Now that that's settled…"

"We leave in half an hour," Natasha interrupted, glancing between the three of us. Fury watched us from his hospital bed as though we were his favorite television show. "Katie," she turned to me. "Come with me."

~8~

Turns out that sneaking into Shield would be harder than we had expected. Well, not for the others. They would be blowing their way through every entrance and taking over the Triskelion by force. I would be infiltrating the lower levels, listening for anyone who was tuned into Hydra'a radio signal on my way down to the hangar.

Natasha had used our last half our of hiding to wash the dark dye out of my hair. We wanted people to go after me and provide a distraction; and after what happened at the bridge, we knew people would be after me. The bridge.

My heart clenched, and I glanced over at my brother again. He had found out that James was alive. And James had given him the same response he'd given me so long ago. _'Who the hell is Bucky?'_

 _"_ _Are you in position?"_ Maria's voice cut into my thoughts as I strode through the bustling halls, walking with purpose towards the lower levels: Steve told me that the Strike and Insight teams were Hydra. Might as well start scratching off names. Deep within me, the Angel stretched, ready for a fight.

"I am," I said smoothly, stepping around a tall, muscular man with a dark crew cut. My stomach clenched. He was the man from the bridge, the one who had threatened to shoot me in order to subdue my brother. He did a double take when he saw me, and I kept walking, feeling his gaze on the back of my head. My palms started to sweat. I wasn't ready to engage, not yet. Not until my brother gave the alarm.

"Agent," the man called. I kept walking. _"Agent,"_ he growled with far more force than before. I stopped walking, and a familiar energy began to surge through my body. "Turn around."

I grabbed a knife as I spun around, ready to lunge at the man—and he was pointing a gun at my head. I froze, growling.

"I thought so," he chuckled. His voice was rough, like sandpaper. "Did Captain America really send in a little girl to do his dirty work?"

I tilted my head a little, my smile feral. "Did Pierce finally let his dog off its leash?"

Instead of being agitated like I hoped he would, he laughed. "Oh, I remember you now," he controlled himself. He seemed to enjoy having someone at his mercy, someone waiting for him to fire a bullet and end their life. "Your time at Hydra may have started before mine, but I still remember seeing the footage." He threw his head back and laughed. I was frozen. "How many times did you fight him?" he asked me. "Your _James_?" My breath caught in my throat. "I watched you, you know. You _screamed_ for him. You _begged_ him to remember you. I was with him yesterday," he added softly, cocking the gun. "He remembered you—he asked about you. And we wiped him."

Something inside me snapped. I dove under his gun, going momentarily deaf as it went off right above my head. I slammed into him at full force, combining the strength of the Angel and of myself. My shoulder was shoved down right before I ran him into the wall, and when he crumpled, I went down with him. We grappled on the floor, rolling around, both of us throwing and receiving punches until I finally managed to knock him out.

I stood up, popping my back, and doubled over, collapsing to one knee. What happened? I tried frantically to peer over my shoulder, and I reached around to touch it with my other hand.

 _"_ _Katie, what's happening?"_ Steve was frantic.

I just got shot. I just got shot. I just got shot.

"Nothing important." I sagged against the wall, biting back a scream. I panted and started down the hall, turning left at the end of it. _I have to finish the mission_. I gasped and stumbled, and then someone was holding me up, lowering me to the ground. They rested my back against the wall, and I blinked blearily up at them.

My heart stopped.

"You're dead," I whispered, staring up at him in shock.

Eli shook his head, staring at me in concern as he pressed a wad of cloth to the wound in my back. "Not quite."

I pulled away, staring wide-eyed at the man before me, and fell back onto the floor. "Don't touch me!"

 _"_ _Katie? Katie, what's wrong?"_

"Eli—" I gasped, pushing back until my back hit the wall.

 _"_ _What? Katie, Eli's dead—"_

Eli Barton went after me, trying to help, but I pushed him away. Warning bells were going off in my head, and I threw him back when he tried to get closer. The Angel came to my aid, and the energy from the strike sent the man reeling back into the opposite wall. Far behind him, I saw a man in all black cut across the hallway.

"Steve, Rumlow's back up—he's coming your way," I gasped, shaking my head, trying to clear it. Too many things were warring inside me—grief over James, confusion and fear over Eli, and always the struggle to control the Angel. "Eli's not dead, he's here—"

A darkness shadowed Eli's face, and he fought me harder, no longer simply intent on calming me down—he wanted to subdue me. He had a knife in his hands. "Katie, stop it—"

Something was _wrong_. Rage turned my vision red. I dodged him, barely, but felt his hand close on my upper arm as I fell, jerking it back behind me. I screamed as I started blacking out, and I crumpled to the ground as Eli held a damp rag to my face, knocking me unconscious.

~8~8~

The next time I woke up, I was alone. Trees surrounded me, blocking out any sound of the city. Leaves and pine straw carpeted the ground. The sky was overcast, but bright, and wind rustled the leaves.

I moved to stand and fell back with a weak cry. I pushed my hair back from my forehead and found it to be matted with blood and leaves, dripping with it. A few memories came back, like the one of being shot, but I had no idea how I'd gotten here—or why I was completely covered in blood: my clothes were soaked with it, my hair was matted down, blonde turned the color of rust, and it was spattered across my skin and caked beneath my nails.

Only one thing could have done this: the Angel. I remembered Coulson's words—she'd torn the soldiers apart. Had I done the same to Eli?

I stood shakily, panting, and listened for my comms—only to find that it was gone; it had been taken from me. I started walking on trembling legs, trying not to think about what I knew had likely happened. Guilt built up inside of me till I felt like I would collapse.

Eli had appeared, somehow, and had tried to attack me. Instead of knocking me unconscious, he had completely leveled the barriers that held the Angel in check, and… I swallowed and stared down at my hands. The blood on my skin was dry, although my clothes were still damp and the liquid still dripped down my forehead and ears. If anyone saw me… I had no idea what they'd think.

About the time my clothes dried, I exited the woods to find myself on the bank of a river—and my brother was lying on the edge, half in the water, unconscious and bleeding.

 _"_ _Steve!"_

I rushed to him and pulled him out of the water, getting soaked in the process. Much of the blood that had soaked through my clothing became wet again, although some of it washed off. Something kept pulling me off balance, dragging me back into the water, but I was too out-of-sorts to realize what it was.

"Oh God." I seized my brother's earpiece and spoke into it. "Hello? Hello, is anyone there? Please, I need help!" I looked around wildly, but there was no one around. Everywhere around us, there was devastation. Smoke billowed from multiple locations, and debris was everywhere. Whatever had happened while I was unconscious must have been _bad_.

 _"_ _Who is this?"_

I almost burst into tears. "Natasha? It's Katie. Natasha, Steve's hurt—"

 _"_ _You disappeared for hours, Katie, what happened? Where are you?"_

"We're on the back of some river, I don't know where we are—Natasha, please, he's been shot—" I examined him quickly, "At least twice, he was stabbed, his face—" his face was swollen almost beyond recognition, and I wanted to throw up. "He's lost so much blood—"

She interrupted me. _"Are_ you _okay?"_

"I—" I stared down at my bloody hands and felt a dim feeling of surprise that I didn't feel the pain of the gunshot wound I'd received. "I got shot."

Natasha swore. _"We've triangulated your location and are on our way,"_ she told me. _"Stay where you are."_

I sank back beside Steve and put pressure on the most severe of his wounds—a bullet had passed straight through his stomach. "I need you to stay with me," I whispered, choking back a sob. "Please, stay with me."

I knew in my heart who had done this, and it wasn't Rumlow. It wasn't Eli, either—there was little doubt in my mind that Eli was, finally, dead. There was only one person I knew of who was strong enough to have been able to have done something like this—besides the Angel, that is, and I knew that she never would have attacked our brother—and who Steve would have allowed to do it. James. His Bucky.

I did start crying then; hot, thick tears streamed down my face, washing lines through the blood that had dried there—at some point, my healing had finally closed all the little cuts in my face from the glass, because my cheek wasn't burning anymore; I always healed faster when the Angel was in control. The Angel. Somehow she could differentiate between friend and foe, like with James.

James. My fiancé, my best friend—he was still under Hydra's control. Only a few weeks ago he'd been ordered to kill me, but he hadn't—and Rumlow said he'd remembered me.

And they'd wiped him. Because of me? Because of Steve? Because he'd started becoming himself again?

A small voice in my heart answered. _Yes._ I knew that. I'd always known it. Hell, I'd experienced it for myself—the instant someone tried to get out from under Hydra's thumb, they'd strip them of their identity.

A footprint on the ground nearby caught my attention. Whomever it belonged to was heavy and injured—and had dragged my brother out of the water. Hope rose within me, and I stood shakily, looking around at the tree line. I didn't see him, and I hadn't met him in the woods, so it was likely that he'd been long gone by the time I got here. At the same time…

I tried to stand, but was dragged back. I finally looked over my shoulder to see why, and I pitched to the side, landing in the water with a splash, in complete shock. I had wings again. I had wings again. I had wings again. How? How was this possible? It couldn't be possible—there was no way—

Eli. He had to have done something, something to change me—he had told me once that he was gifted, that he was like me. Had he healed me? I started the scrub the blood from my arms and was horrified to find that all the scars I'd ever received were gone—the large burn I'd gotten in the 60s was gone—the bullet wound I'd received hours before was gone.

"What happened to me?" I crawled out of the water, too weak to try and stand. Did butterflied feel like this after they made it out of their cocoon? Weak and fragile and lopsided—because their bodies had been changed and recreated and now they had wings, and they were free, but it didn't make sense, because how could it make sense?

 _They can't see me like this._ I stood on shaky legs and started walking, then running—when my wings dried, I took to the air. I called Clint when I made it far enough away from D.C.—no one was looking at the sky anymore, there was too much carnage on the ground to interest the civilians who might have seen me.

Clint was at home, wherever home was. He told me where to meet him, and meet him I did—I flew for days until I reached the location he gave me. He was waiting for me when I landed. He walked up to me and embraced me like family when I reached him. I welcomed the contact but at the same time wanted to pull away, hide beneath a rock. What I had done to Eli… "Hey Katie," he smiled down at me, smile lines visible even though his eyes were covered. "It's good to see you again." He looked over me, and his eyes widened at a realization. "Your wings—"

"It's good to see you too," I murmured. I was too exhausted to summon a smile. I was been awake for almost four days without sleep, fueled completely by adrenaline and fear. Those was wearing off quickly. "It's a long story."

Sweat coated my skin and dampened my hair. Blood was still caked under my fingernails, though I had washed the rest of it out of my hair and clothes. Clint noticed my grey pallor and ushered me forward. "C'mon," he murmured. "We've got to fly some more, but it'll be worth it."

"Where are we going?" I asked him tiredly, leaning against his shoulder as he walked me towards the airport. A quinjet was waiting on the runway. His arm rested on my shoulders, and he helped lead me forward. I had barely enough energy to walk. I wondered if he'd help me if he knew what I'd done.

"A safe house," he answered softly.

We didn't speak again until I was settled inside the jet, curled up on one of the seats. The inside of the jet was plain—a few seats, parachutes tucked away in their compartments, and everything was clean. Clint noticed me looking around and informed me that the jet had previously belonged to Shield. He had received it as payment for a favor. He informed me that yes, he knew that Shield had fallen—and no, he didn't know anything about my brother.

"Get some sleep," he demanded gently, covering me with a blanket. I was curled in a ball, barely able to keep my eyes open. Clint helped strap me in so I wouldn't go flying around the plane as soon as we made a sharp turn. "I'll wake you when we land."

I was asleep before he reached the cockpit.

~8~8~8~

I woke up screaming. Clint was on his knees in front of me—a few feet away, granted, but in front of me all the same—trying to wake me up. I was hyperventilating, choking on my breath. I was soaked with sweat and shaking so horribly that I could barely function.

"Katie? Listen to me. You're okay. You're okay."

I finally focused on him. "Clint—it was—it was—it—" I shut my eyes, trying to calm down—I couldn't remember what I'd been dreaming about.

"We're touching down in a few minutes and I need to land the plane. Just relax. You'll get your rest soon."

I didn't answer. I stayed frozen where I was until we landed. When Clint appeared in front of me, I almost had a heart attack. Those grey eyes were so familiar—Eli had them too… and I had killed him, I was almost sure of it. His blood was caked beneath my fingernails. "We're here," he breathed. "Come on."

He helped me up and supported me as I walked, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and one of his around my waist. We exited the quinjet and started walking. We were in the middle of a field. I looked around, seeking for a distraction. There were mountains in the distance, woods everywhere except where we were. The sun was close to rising, and mist swirled gently around the trees. The world was new and fresh and clean, everything was resting in shades of dusky blue and shadowy green. The birds hadn't woken yet, and crickets and frogs were chorusing in the woods.

We travelled down a path in the woods and emerged on the edge of another meadow, in the center of which rested a house and a barn. Smoke was twisting up from the chimney of the white farmhouse. "Safe house," Clint murmured, a small smile on his face.

Went we reached the front porch, I almost collapsed, unable to stand anymore. Clint picked me up and carried me inside. He set me down in a small room on a large bed—and the first word that came to mind to describe the feel of it was 'safe'.

"Where am I?" I asked him, peering up at him. My throat was raw, my voice scratchy and weak.

"You're at my farm."

"This is your house?" A bolt of fear swept through me. Did Clint have a family? I wasn't so much worried about Clint—he could take the Angel down if need be. But a wife and kids… they might not be able to get away if the Angel attacked. "Do you live here alone?"

A knock on the door answered my question. A thin, pretty, brunette woman stood in the doorway, smiling softly down at me. A pair of big brown eyes peered around her legs. "Hello," she said softly, moving into the room. She rested her hands on Clint's shoulders, and he visibly relaxed.

I blinked, my confused mind sluggishly piecing together the detail of what was happening. "You… you're Clint's wife?" The child with the brown eyes scampered off, and his shrieks were joined by the bubbly laughter of a smaller girl. I couldn't risk entering into any situation in which the Angel would be brought to light. Although at the moment, she seemed just as shell-shocked and pained as I was, because I couldn't sense her at all.

"Laura," she introduced herself, holding out her hand. I hesitantly took it, ashamed at the dirt and blood on my hands touching her clean skin. "What's your name?"

"Katherine," I answered, choosing my full name in favor of my nickname. Eli had called me Katie. For right now, I wanted to distance myself from that name. "Katherine Rogers."

"It's very nice to meet you, Katherine," Laura smiled again. "I'm glad you're here. Stay as long as you need." She bent and pressed her lips against Clint's temple. My heart clenched, and my fingers twitched against the covers. James. "I'm going to start dinner." She lifted her dark eyes to meet mine. "Get cleaned up; I'll put some clothes out for you, alright?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

Clint showed me to the bathroom, which was across the hall from my borrowed room, and showed me where everything was—towels, washcloths, soap, shampoo. I spent more than an hour curled in the bottom of the shower, my wings draped over the edge of the tub. I scrubbed my skin until it was red and raw, using up an entire bar of soap on my fingernails and hands alone, digging my nails into the bar and scraping them across it to get the soap wedged beneath them.

I thought about the scars I'd received, the ones that were all gone. Many I remembered I receiving, more I did not. The one I'd gotten in the 60s, when James tried to rescue me. The man bullet and knife wounds I'd received over the years. All gone, wiped away as though they'd never existed. How?

I turned the water off and climbed into a towel, drying off. I chanced a look in the mirror and swallowed tightly. I didn't recognize the girl who looked back at me. On the outside, she was flawless—physically fit, without a single scar or blemish. It was her eyes that terrified me.

I had thought I was broken before. Now… I had killed someone I had loved. That had always been a line I had refused to cross. Now, thanks to the Angel…

I took a deep breath. I had to tell Clint. Soon. But not now—tomorrow, when Laura wasn't around to hear me. She reminded me of my own mother—and because of that, I didn't want her to be disappointed in me, to hate me.

"I'm sorry, Clint," I whispered, watching my reflection tear up, eyes turning pink from the strain of holding back tears. I sucked in a deep breath, my chest heaving and my shoulders shaking. I didn't know how Eli had come to be alive, but it didn't matter. He wasn't anymore. "I'm so sorry."

My hands gripped the countertop tightly, but nothing happened—nothing shattered, nothing cracked, not like the other times. I looked up, eyes widening in my reflection, and I turned and slammed my fist against the tile. Nothing happened to the tile, although pain exploded in my hand.

As I cradled my hand, I understood something—the reason why I hadn't felt the Angel. She wasn't shocked. She wasn't biding her time. Somehow, when I had been healed of all my physical injuries, I'd been healed of my mental ones as well.

The Angel was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

It had been a week.

It had been a week since I had discovered that the Angel was gone, and I still wasn't sure how to process the information. The Angel was gone? The thought whisked through my mind for the thousandth time, and for the thousandth time I searched deep, going through horrible memories and thoughts, searching for the incredible power that had dwelled within me for so long.

Nothing.

Not a hint—not so much as a shred of the strength… or of the healing.

I stared into the mirror, glaring at the face I had come to know and hate so much. I had just gotten out of the shower, and my wet hair hung in soaked strands over my face, dripping icy water down my unclothed body. I still didn't have any clothes, so Laura and Clint Barton both had been lending me clothing. Laura's came in the form of pajamas and jeans, Clint's in the form of flannels and t-shirts, which I was very grateful for. The couple was so incredibly kind, and I was very thankful to have had the opportunity to get to know them. All the same, I was worried. They would hate me when they found out what I had done. And since the Angel was gone, I would be defenseless—or maybe that was better, because I didn't want to hurt them.

I sank down on the edge of the tub, rubbing my arms. I was suddenly freezing. Goosebumps rose on my arms. How could this be happening? For so long I had wanted her gone, wanted to be free of her, but I always thought it would be my choice. I never thought she'd be taken from me. And now that she was gone, I realized that getting rid of her hadn't solved any problems. I wanted her gone because I hoped that her termination would relieve my conscience of the guilt it carried for all the lives I had taken.

It didn't; I still bleed myself for everything I had done.

Someone knocked on the door, and I jumped at the sudden noise, slipping off the slick surface and onto the tile floor. "Katherine?" It was Laura. I sat up, curling into a tight ball with my arms around my knees. "I'm leaving some clothes out here for you, alright? Come get them when you're ready."

I managed to find my voice. It was scratchy and weak, but I managed to croak out, "Alright, thank you."

I killed my friend.

I left the bathroom on shaky legs and returned to my room across the hall. I barely made it to the bed before collapsing, fisting the soft quilt as I lay face down, breathing in the clean-laundry scent of it.

My stomach growled so loudly that I could feel it move. What was the last time I had eaten? I honestly couldn't remember. I had been skipping meals, which I knew wasn't wise, but some days I couldn't make myself get out of bed and join the family. I didn't bother trying to get up again; it was all I could do to roll over onto my back. When I did, I just stared up at the ceiling, watching the fan move in lazy rotations around its axis. The sun had long since set, and someone had closed the curtains over the window and turned on the lamp by the bed, letting warm, golden light fill the room.

Clint appeared in the door, knocking softly. "Hey." He was holding a plate of food on one hand and a pitcher of water in the other. It was strange seeing him in normal clothes. "When was the last time you ate?"

My hands rested over my ribs, and I could feel them clearly through the thin fabric. I shrugged as my stomach roared its complaint once more. "I don't know."

Clint set down his burden on the table and moved to rest beside me. "You should eat something." I didn't respond. I could feel tears burning my eyes. It's all my fault. I killed your brother. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. "It's been a week since you got here. Do you want to tell me what happened?" he finally asked, crossing his arms over the back of the chair. "I thought you were happy with Coulson… and then with Steve."

I nodded and crossed my arms under my chin, sighing softly. "I was."

His silvery gaze narrowed slightly as he tried to understand. "Then why aren't you with them?" he pressed. His eyes widened, and I wondered if he had remembered how much blood had been on me when he found me. "Is everyone alright?"

Did I want to answer? Answering might open a huge can of worms that I wasn't totally ready to search through, much less with him. Of all the people I knew, I felt that I trusted Clint the most, second only to Steve. Even so, I was terrified he'd find out about Eli, that I had killed him.

"Katie—"

"I don't know if he's alright," I gasped out. "And they're in danger because Shield is Hydra," I whispered to the ceiling, feeling a hot tear slip past my lashes and trace its way down my cheek. My vision grew blurry as my chin began to tremble, and I took a deep breath. Clint had gone very still. "It's Hydra, and I… I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell him, and the Winter Soldier found us, and—"

"Stop." Clint cut me off. Even if he hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to go on; I could barely speak I was shaking so badly. This whole week had been horrible. "The Winter Soldier?"

"James. Bucky Barnes. My fiancé—he found me." my breath caught, and the word came out in a squeak. "And so did Eli."

Clint looked at me like I had grown a second head. "What?"

I was really crying now, and I was holding a pillow to my chest, hugging it tightly. "Eli—I don't know how, Clint, but he came back. I don't know how, but he did, and—he attacked me. I was in a fight with a Hydra agent, and I got shot. Eli appeared and tried to subdue me, and I fought back—I tried to call Steve for help but Eli wouldn't let me, and he attacked me—the next thing I knew, I was in the woods, covered in blood. I had my wings back, and the Angel was gone. I don't know what happened, Clint, but—" I swallowed. "But—"

Clint had gone very still, connecting the dots in his head, and he stopped moving entirely when he solved the puzzle. My heart was physically hurting, it was beating so quickly. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice choked with tears. My breathing grew labored. "I'm so sorry." Before I could say another word, he was gone, slamming the door behind him as he went.

My head fell back against the comforter, and I curled into a ball, shaking with sobs. I killed him. I killed him. I killed him.

"Katherine?"

My eyes shot open, and then immediately squinted, stinging—I must have fallen asleep. The curtains had been pulled back, allowing dim, pre-dawn light to lessen the shadows in the room. The window was open as well, allowing a cool breeze and the smell of pine to fill the room—it smelled like James. I was hugging a pillow closer to my chest. Laura was sitting on the bed beside me, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently. A little girl with brown hair stood beside her, her little arms crossed over the top of the mattress, her chin resting atop them. Big brown eyes stared curiously up at me, and my throat constricted. I'd never have a little girl, not after the Red Room. Not after what they did to me. "Clint told me what you said."

My gaze shot to her as my heart stuttered to a stop. I expected her to look furious or afraid, but… She didn't seem angry or frightened. On the contrary, she looked sad, understanding. She looked like my Mom. "Everything?" I repeated, the word a squeak.

"What he knew," she amended, her free hand brushing through her daughter's fine hair. "He's figuring out what to do."

I glanced down at the little girl. "Is he…" I swallowed, licking my lips. The fight-or-flight feeling was back, but weak. I knew I was too weak to run and that I would never fight to hurt Clint or his family. "What's he gonna do to me?"

Her hand stilled, and the little girl leaned into her touch, bright eyes flickering between her mother and I. "That's what he asked me. I told him I wanted to hear the whole story from you before I made up my mind."

"Should she be in here?" I asked softly, nodding towards her daughter. In response, Laura leaned down and murmured something into her daughter's ear.

"Go on, Lila," Laura murmured. The little girl smiled and darted from the room. A moment later, her laughter was joined by that of her brother. A pang went through me. I missed Steve so much. Our last conversations had been full of strife, both of us yelling… he thought I had lied to him; he didn't trust me anymore. And now, with everything that had happened, I didn't know if I'd be able to face him again.

"Eli died almost a year ago," I whispered, a shiver running through me—the feeling was similar to the one I used to get in grade school whenever the class clown would decide to rake his fingernails down the chalkboard. "He was shot through the chest. Clint was there, he saw him die… and he saw me change. Hydra and the Red Room, they changed me into a monster, and Clint saw it before I got captured. Clint and the Avengers rescued me," I provided her with some background information before launching into the real story. "I was with my brother when I ran into Eli again at the Triskellion." Her eyes widened. "He attacked me and tried to hurt me."

"And you thought it meant he was working for Hydra," Laura surmised.

"I didn't know what to think," I breathed. "I just knew I had to escape, but… when I woke up, I was in the middle of the woods. I was completely healed, and I had wings again. I don't know what happened, I don't understand it."

"What do you think happened?" Laura asked.

"I think I killed him," I breathed, my fingernails digging into my knees. I had crossed a line and I knew it, and no matter how hard I scrambled to try and get back over it, it was impossible. "I woke up covered in blood, and he's the last person I remember seeing."

"It sounds to me like you were defending yourself," she told me gently, prying my nails off my knees.

My throat burned, and I shook my head in the negative. "If the Angel attacked him, it wasn't defense" I breathed, staring blankly at her. "It was a slaughter. I was unconscious, I don't remember, I didn't have control—" I pressed my head into my hands.

"I never had the chance to meet Eli," Laura said softly, rubbing my back soothingly. "But Clint told me about how he was when he was a boy. But from what you've said," she murmured, placing a hand on my knee, "whomever it was that tried to kill you, it wasn't him. The boy Clint grew up with wouldn't have done this."

"How could it be anyone else?" I cut her off, my voice trembling. "It was him, I felt it—"

"Katherine, listen to me. It wasn't your fault." My face crumpled, and I pressed my face into my pillow. Laura was silent for a few moments. She finally spoke again, staring off into the distance, watching the sun rise over the tops of the trees, burning away the fog. "We all do things we regret," she murmured to herself, unconsciously tracing one of the quilt patterns with her fingertips. "But we can't crucify every person who makes a mistake. You know, Natasha was trained by the Red Room," she turned her warm gaze to rest on me. "And when Clint found her, he gave her a second chance."

"I've had a second chance," I whispered, glancing down. I was unable to raise my voice any more for fear she would hear how close I was to losing it. "I don't deserve a third."

"Everyone deserves a third," she countered, her tone hardening. "And a fourth, and a fifth. You are a child, and you have gone through horrible things, things no one should ever have to experience."

"I'm not—I'm almost ninety," I tried to explain, ready to go through my aging process for the ninety-seventh time.

She cut me off. "How old were you when you stopped aging?"

"Eighteen, I think." I couldn't remember, not really. Did I stop aging after Azzano? Or did I stop aging when I was captured in '46?

"Then you're still a child," Laura Barton said firmly, her eyes sparkling. She touched my hair gently, and I leaned into her touch, my throat closing. It had been so long since I had had a maternal figure in my life telling me that I was worth it, that I was innocent. Even if it wasn't all true, I still missed it. "And it's a mother's instinct to protect children whether they belong to her or not."

I was choking up. I could barely remember my mother, and here was a woman showing me more kindness and motherly love than I had known in a dozen lifetimes.

"I don't blame you," she murmured, pulling me into a hug. I hugged her back tightly, able to hold onto her without fear of hurting her. "And I don't think Clint does, either."

"I don't."

I looked up over Laura's shoulder to see Clint standing in the doorway, a heartbroken look on his face. It didn't take long to realize that he had heard everything I had shared with Laura.

"I should, but I don't. If what you said was true, about Eli, then… I can't blame you for defending yourself. I can't not give you a second chance, or a third one, not when I gave Nat one after finding her in the Red Room."

He crossed to sit beside his wife, placing his hand on hers.

"Why don't you hate me?" I whispered. I glanced down at my fingernails. They were scrubbed clean, but I could still see the decades of blood that stained my hands. "After all I've done—?"

"Because you're a kid," he replied. "A kid I promised to protect."

"But I—" I had killed his brother. I killed Eli. If someone ever killed Steve, I wouldn't give them a second chance; they'd be going down.

"Stop." He shook his head. "I'm not changing my mind." He gave me a small sad smile and stood up again. "Besides, there's someone here to see you."

I frowned, confused, but followed Laura as she led me downstairs, Clint following behind me. I should be honest: I still was half expecting to get an arrow between my shoulder blades for what I had done. When I stepped into the living room, I stopped short immediately, shocked by the presence of the man before me. He looked much better than he had the last time I'd seen him—he had healing cuts on his cheekbone, nose, and the area above his eye. Fading yellow bruises dotted his skin, and he moved gingerly as though his ribs had been broken. Clint stepped around me, moving to rest his hand on his wife's hip.

"Thank you for coming," he said to his teammate, who nodded but said nothing.

Lila and her brother Cooper looked up from showing him their drawings. The siblings smiled first at me and then at their parents before flying from the room. I was partially inclined to follow them. Indeed, I actually flinched, jerking back towards the door before Clint placed a steadying hand upon my shoulder.

The large man glanced up with a smile, and his eyes—the same color as mine—locked with my own. The smile slowly faded from his face, replaced by a heartbroken yet loving look that shook me to the core as it had ever since I'd discovered he was still alive. It still baffled me that he could love me after everything. My breathing grew labored, and tears sprang to my eyes.

"Steve?" I breathed. He was okay. He was alive.

When he nodded, I rushed forward and dove into his arms, wrapping my arms around his chest. I almost fell over backwards, my own energy throwing me back—running into his chest was like running into a brick wall—but he caught me up, catching, keeping me from falling. "Steve—" my voice broke, and his grip tightened. One hand rested on my back, the other on my neck, and he cradled me as though I was something precious, something that needed to be protected.

"Katie," he murmured, his chest humming with the word, with the name. I dug my fingers and buried my face into the soft cotton fabric of his shirt, unwilling to let him go. He smelled nice—like soap and shaving cream—very different from James's forest-y scent.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, tensing as the words escaped me, waiting for a rebuke, a lecture, a strike, all of which I would deserve. I was sorry for everything. For being weak, for not going after James when I had the chance, for not telling Steve about the Winter Soldier before it was too late. I was sorry for not being a better sister. I should have looked for him, and I should have kept him from leaving in the first place. "I'm so sorry."


	11. Chapter 11

When Steve finally pulled back to see me better, his blue eyes were swimming with tears. He pushed a loose curl back from my forehead and planted a light kiss there, like Mom used to when I was little. "I love you, kiddo," he murmured, brushing my hair back. "No matter what you do."

I didn't deserve his love or his forgiveness. I felt like I was back on the roof, back before I had been sent away, when I had tried to kill myself. Steve had found me, held me, protected me, told me he loved me. And just like I had then, I couldn't believe it. I could not believe it. "I killed Eli," I managed to choke out. Steve stilled, his expression saddening. I could feel his heartbeat through his shirt. "I didn't tell you about James. I left you. I'm s—"

"Come with me," he cut me off gently, taking my hand. He turned and led me outside. I didn't bother protesting; it would do me no good.

Clint and Laura stayed behind with their children, giving us the privacy we needed. Steve sat down on the slightly splintered stairs leading up to the porch, grunting a bit as he settled down. I joined him, wrapping my wings around myself as I did so. The sun hadn't quite cleared the trees yet, and a morning chill hung in the air despite the near-summer month. I chanced a glance at Steve—he was staring out into the distance, a peaceful look on his face, his eyes taking in the beauty of the world around him. His fingers twitched as though he were about to pick up a pencil and draw it all.

"I'm glad you're safe," he finally said. I dipped my head, tapping my bare foot lightly against the damp wooden stair. "I was worried—you were gone when I woke up."

"I lost my comms," I admitted, shrugging one shoulder. It had shorted out while I had been scrubbing the blood from my hair after I'd found him. He nodded, his lips twitching up in a smile, and silence descended upon us once more.

"Why didn't you tell me that he was alive?" he finally asked, cutting right to the chase.

My stomach dropped, and I glanced down, rubbing my eyes. "I didn't remember at first," I explained softly. "That last wipe did a number on me." I scowled, touching the skin where faint scars had once been burned into my temples, and then sighed, defeated. I should have told him. "I didn't know until I saw him in Russia."

"How many times have you seen him since you escaped?" he asked me. "Before now."

I took a deep breath. "Three times. When he killed Eli," I breathed. "And when they cut off my wings. He was there." _He held me down._ But I couldn't tell him that, not now, not when he was trying to save him. It wasn't James's fault. "He captured me in Russia. I didn't want to tell you."

Steve looked heartbroken, absolutely devastated. I swallowed tightly and took a sharp breath, suddenly unable to breathe. "I thought he was starting to regain his memory," I choked out. "When I said his name, he let go of me. And in the sixties he tried to help me escape, he recognized me—but they wiped him, and I don't think he knows me anymore. I know they wiped him after the bridge, so—"

Steve interrupted me. "He does."

My brain stuttered, tripping over itself in an attempt to decipher what my brother had just said. "I—he—what?" I turned to face my brother, my eyes widening in shock and disbelief. My brain started working again, spinning into hyperdrive. My emotions went haywire, joy and pain and anger all whirring together to form some sense of twisted denial. No, he can't be remembering, it isn't possible—but what if it is? My heart leapt with joy even as it started breaking. A whimper escaped my locked lips. I didn't want to be hurt again. James, my James, he's remembering—

"When I fought him, I said something to him. The look on his face when I said it, it was…" Steve shook his head and stared down at his hands. They were trembling. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. His tone was final. "He remembered."

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart warmed with a sudden burst of love I didn't know I was capable of anymore. But I didn't want to be hurt again… but what if he really was beginning to remember? "What did you say to him?" I whispered, unable to raise my voice any more for fear that this was a dream, and if I tried to speak, I would wake up. My fingertips dug into the underside of the step and I held on to dear life as though the world were about to turn on its head and try to shake me off the face of it.

"'I'm with you till the end of the line,'" he said softly, closing his eyes.

 _'I'm with you till the end of the line.'_

I pressed my shaking hands to my face. My cheeks were warm and wet with tears.

"Do you think he remembers me?" I asked my brother, scarcely able to believe my ears. I could barely dare to hope—surely he didn't remember. Maybe he remembered Steve, but not me. Yeah, that was it.

"Yeah," he nodded, looking down at me with a sad smile. He lifted his hand to my face and brushed my tears away with the pad of his thumb. I understood why he was upset. James was his best friend. And he had been replaced by an assassin, just as his sister had.

What was I going to do? I wanted to rush out there right then, go find him—but I had no way of doing that. My wings were of no real use, not with my power gone—and they were too obvious for me to go out searching for him.

"Are you here to take me back?" I asked my brother softly. I figured he wanted to bring me back to the Avengers' Tower where he could keep an eye on me, keep me safe. I stared straight ahead. I felt utterly empty, all of a sudden; drained. I didn't know what to do or where to go.

"No. I'm here to make sure you're safe," Steve corrected softly. "When you're ready, you're welcome to come back. But for now, I just want you to heal."

"I can't. I killed him, Steve," I whispered, a tear falling from my lashes. "I killed Eli. I killed my friend."

Steve shook his head but said nothing, instead choosing to wrap his arm around my shoulders and pull me close to his side. He knew that no words he could say would help change my mind, and so he didn't try to say anything. He just sat with me, a soldier beside a statue, as the sun rose and lit up the world.

The light did nothing to heal my shattered heart.

"Can I be honest with you?" he finally asked. I looked up at him. The golden light spilled over his features, making his cheekbones, nose, and forehead glow brightly while casting the rest of his face into shadow. One eye shone gold, the other stormy grey, but both were concerned.

"Yeah," I nodded. Steve had never been anything but honest with me, unlike me with him. "I wouldn't expect anything else."

"You can't beat yourself up over this."

That was not what I was expecting to hear. "What?"

"Eli was your enemy when you finally had to fight him. He was going to hurt you. It wasn't your fault, Katie."

"Did Clint tell you what happened?"

Steve hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes."

I scoffed, glancing away as my eyes filled with tears. "Then you know that's not true."

A nearly identical conversation flashed through my mind, several decades old, one that occurred right after James had fallen from the train. Steve and I had taken up refuge in a bar than had been destroyed in a bombing a week before, and we both were drinking. Steve was unable to get drunk at the time and was too far gone in grief to keep me from trying. Afterwards, I assumed that I could hold my liquor better than most, as I hadn't gotten so much as a buzz. I later realized that it had been because I had received the same treatment Steve had. Peggy found us, tried to comfort us. Well, Steve more than me; I wouldn't talk to anyone, wouldn't listen to anyone. I had actually been detained on the flight back, I had fought so hard to get to Zola and kill him. It had been the beginning of the end for me.

 _"It wasn't your fault."_

 _"Did you read the reports?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _A choked scoff. "Then you know that's not true."_

"It is true, Katherine," Steve said softly, catching my hand and squeezing it tight. "It wasn't your fault."

"Something happened to him," I whispered. "He wasn't himself. I think… I think Hydra did something to him."

"Then you freed him from their control," Steve murmured, frowning at the ground.

How many times had I prayed someone would do that for me? To shoot me in the head, the heart, free me from Hydra? "Either way, it wasn't your fault. You didn't have a choice."

"If he were here right now," I said softly, staring blankly ahead. "If he had made it, survived the would I gave him, how would he see me? Not a savior. Not a friend. Do you know what the first thing I saw was when I woke up?" I turned to face my brother, tears streaming down my face. "Do you?"

He shook his head, devastated.

"Blood." I took a deep breath, suddenly lightheaded, and grabbed my head in my hands. "I was covered in blood. His blood. My hair was matter with it, my clothes were stained. Steve, no one deserves to be taken apart the way the Angel did to him."

"The Angel?" Steve repeated, pulling at my wrists in an ill-fated attempt to disentangle my fingers from my hair.

I lifted my face to face the sun again. "Yes. She's gone now—I don't know how, but she's gone. I still feel guilty, though. For everything we did."

"I do to," Steve murmured. "I've killed, Katie. I fought in wars. I blame myself for you, for Bucky. But I can't change what happened. The only thing I can do is to try to heal."

Steve went back that afternoon, after lunch. He couldn't stay; Stark was sure to track the Quinjet's location if he was gone for too long, and Clint didn't want anyone to know where his family was. To be safe, Steve had landed several miles away and hiked the rest of the way in, but still; family was important, and Clint wanted his to be safe, which I completely understood.

Clint devoted the next few weeks to training me, helping me regain my strength. Everyday we would train for hours, non stop, with the bow and with iron batons and with hand-to-hand combat. I grew stronger, faster. My leg healed. And my unease grew. With every passing moment, I grew more and more worried about James. Was he alive? Was he hurt? Did Hydra still have a hold on him?

All the same, I didn't want to leave. I was happy here: I felt like I had a family. Lila and Cooper started calling me 'Auntie Katie.' Laura was like a mother to me, Clint like a father. I loved them. I never wanted to leave. But at the same time, I needed my brother. I needed to find James.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," I murmured to Clint. I was curled up in a ball on the armchair by the fire reading a book. How I missed this. Normalcy. Sitting, reading, drinking tea. Lila and Cooper were upstairs, and Laura, who had announced three weeks ago that she was expecting her and Clint's third child, was tucking them into bed. Clint was lying on the dark leather couch across from me, one arm draped across his face.

"You what?" He lifted up his arm, surveying me with concerned silver eyes. "Sort of last minute, isn't it?"

I shrugged. I had been with the Bartons for almost two months, and I though I had yet to feel that I had overstayed my welcome, something was calling me to leave. I felt free—freer than I had been in a long time, and I had gotten used to life without the Angel. But I had things I needed to do. Things I needed to make up for. And though I knew I couldn't take down Hydra on my own—been there, done that—it wouldn't hurt to help the Avengers, should Hydra become their next target.

"I want to see Steve again," I told him. "And I need to find James." I desperately needed to find James. More than anything, it was the drive to find him that kept me going. _Find him. Find him. Find him._ I didn't know what I'd do what I finally caught up with him, but I needed to. And if he didn't know me, if he killed me… then at least I'd finally be at peace.

Clint finally sat up, grunting as he did so, and laced his calloused fingers together. "Katie. We talked about this. You have no way of finding him, you know that."

"I have ways to track him, though," I argued back. "Hydra bases, places he's been, things he might have remembered—the army base where he was trained, the building where he grew up, the factory where we were held—"

"All these places are gone," Clint cut me off, raising his voice ever so slightly. "That army base was blown up when Hydra tried to kill your brother. That building's been gone for years. The factory burned decades ago—you were inside it!"

"It doesn't mean he won't be there," I barked, sitting up on my knees. I was desperate. A spark had been rekindled inside my soul, and I'll be damned if I let it burn out again. I couldn't save Eli, and I couldn't save myself, but I could save James, or I'd die trying.

Clint rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. "Steve's already looked." His tone was gentler now. "A hundred times. I don't think your boy wants to be found."

I shook my head. I refused to believe that. I remembered the time after I had escaped, back right before Howard found me, and how desperate I had been to be seen, to be found, to be loved by someone who knew me. "But he knew me," I whispered. "He remembered me."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Clint reasoned softly. He glanced down at the ground, and I barely caught this next words. "Maybe it's best that he isn't found."

Before I could respond, Laura reappeared in the doorway and smiled at her husband. The joy on her face—the joy on both their faces, especially when she'd announced her pregnancy—made my heart both swell and ache.

 _"You think we'll ever have kids?"_

 _I rolled over to face James, smiling softly at him. "What?"_

 _He turned his head, his cheek rubbing against the grass below us. "You heard me," he grinned. "Do you think we'll ever have kids?"_

 _"I sure hope so," I sighed happily, tucking one arm under my cheek to support my head as I shifted, pulling the blanket up to my chin. It was chilly out here at night—we were somewhere in Europe, I couldn't keep track anymore of where—but beautiful. "I want a big family."_

 _"Me too. I want a few girls," he commented lightly, tucking a loose curl behind my ear._

 _"Oh, do you?" I teased, nudging him. "I'll get right on that, then."_

 _He gave me a coy look. "Not till we're married, doll."_

 _A blush rose on my face, and my cheeks burned against the December air. "That's not what I meant and you know it—"_

 _He laughed jovially, cutting me off. "I know, darlin', but it's fun to see you all flustered. I just… I want to be a good dad, y'know?" His expression turned serious, sad, almost. "What if I'm not a good husband—and what if I'm a terrible father?"_

 _My heart clenched painfully and I scooted closer, pressing my hand to his chest. He was practically radiating heat, so the only cold part of me was my face. "You're going to be a wonderful husband one day, James," I murmured, lifting my hand to rest against his jaw. "And a great father."_

I blinked back tears. He would never be a father. Never see our children. Neither would I. I wondered if we would ever be married, or if we both were too messed up to live the lives that had been stolen from us so many years ago.

"Get some sleep," she said softly, placing her other hand on my shoulder. "We'll talk more in the morning."

I nodded and left without another word, hurrying up the stairs towards my room. I didn't want them to see me cry. I made sure to skip over the third stair from the top—it creaked, and it was right outside Lila's room—and then shut me door quietly behind me. I pulled on a pair of borrowed pajamas and then headed towards the bed. I had helped Laura change the sheets that day, and I hummed in appreciation as I climbed under the crisp covers, letting the cool fabric drape over me.

I couldn't sleep. I stared straight ahead at the wall, illuminated by the oval nightlight plugged into the wall beside my bed. I watched my shadow's chest rise and fall as I breathed.

"What do I do?" I whispered to it helplessly, pressing my engagement ring to my lips. The cool metal brushed softly against my skin like a kiss from the man who gave it to me so long ago. The tears I had been holding back finally fell, leaving tracks down my cheeks and dripping from my nose. "James, what do I do?"

 _The smile that leapt across his face could have lit up the camp. "Really?" he asked, leaning closer and resting his forehead against mine. Love shone in his eyes, burning brightly against the night._

 _"Really," I whispered back. "I love you."_

 _James leaned forward and kissed me. His lips were slightly chapped but still warm. He dropped his head, breathing heavily. He squeezed my hand tightly. "I love you, Katherine."_


	12. Chapter 12

_"Why do you always try to defend Steve?"_

 _I looked in surprise at the older boy, blinking up at him. James had come over after school to play with Steve, but he was at the doctor's office. Mama took him down there and left me at home, so James was waiting with me until Steve got back. Steve and James were fourteen, and I was eight, but I still felt the need to protect my brother. Heaven knew he needed protecting._

 _"Why not?" I asked, my big blue eyes widening innocently. I didn't understand. Why shouldn't I protect my brother? I loved him. He wanted to protect me, but he couldn't, so I protected him instead._

 _"Well, you're smaller than he is," James shrugged, tossing a rock down the stairs. "Wouldn't it make sense that he'd protect you?"_

 _I frowned, scuffing my shoes on the steps, and then looked back up at him. "Why do_ you _protect Steve?" I asked him suspiciously, tugging on the hem of my blue dress._

 _James stared out for a second at the other buildings, rolling a pebble between his fingers. "I dunno. I guess it's because I don't like bullies," he smiled down at me. "I don't care where they're from."_

 _"Me either," I agreed, nodding vigorously._

 _James laughed and ruffled my hair affectionately. "I know you don't," he chuckled. "You'd never hurt a fly."_

"He's not here, Katie. Have you considered calling Steve, seeing if—"

"No. I… I can't ask for Steve's help. I have to do this on my own."

Sam sighed in exasperation and leaned forward. He had been trying to change my mind for the last two weeks, ever since I followed James Barnes's lookalike around Queens for a good three hours. This was the second time today we had had this conversation. "Katie—"

I slammed my hand down on the table, and everything on it was sent into the air as I shot to my feet. Sam, who was used to my sudden and unpredictable bursts of strength, managed to catch his glass before the contents spilled into his lap. Several people looked around, alarmed by the noise. "Look, I'm not changing my mind. If you're not going to help me—"

"Miss, is there a problem?" The perky blonde waitress appeared once more at Sam's elbow. The uniform these workers wore were not designed to flatter one's figure, but it didn't stop the young woman from beaming and indiscreetly shoving her chest and nametag in Sam's face. He leaned back as subtly as possible, trying to maintain eye contact with me, and ended up almost falling out of his chair. I scowled down at the table and slowly and carefully sank back into my seat as Sam shot the woman a wary smile.

"We're alright," he assured her, grimacing slightly as he regained his balance. "Can we get this to go?"

"Of course," she gushed, batting her eyelashes. I grit my teeth and stared up at the ceiling in an attempt to avoid eye contact with either of them. "I'll be right back, sir."

She turned and strutted away, letting her hips sway back and forth—an odd sight, as her gait was hampered by the long, baggy apron tied around her waist. Sam turned back to me, shaking his head, and replaced his water, glancing down warily to make sure it stayed in place. He gestured to me, indicating my growing lack of control over my strength. "You sure we don't need to call your brother?" he asked, leaning back in his seat.

My eyes narrowed testily as I bit down on a ketchup-covered French fry. "Positive."

In truth, I was worried. Although the Angel had disappeared when Hydra had—and Bruce had determined that she was gone for good, to my immense relief—my strength was beginning to manifest itself at the oddest times: trying to open a door and ripping off the handle, tossing a remote to Sam and putting a hole in the wall instead, getting angry and almost breaking a steel table. There was a reason we'd started going to places with reinforced foundations—Sam was afraid I'd trip into a support column and take down a building on top of us. My wings were the main problem, though—I had to wear a trench coat at all times, had to sleep on my stomach or side, and couldn't sit in booths or most chairs whenever we were in public. Thank goodness there were so many benches in Brooklyn.

As Sam paid, I headed outside, not wanting to watch as he evaded the persistent waitress who was intent on giving him her number. My gaze wandered, scanning the faces of everyone who passed on either side of the road. A police car was parked in front of me, and on a whim, I glanced down at my reflection. A small red dot hovered over my heart.

Muscle memory took over and I lurched to one side, throwing myself out of the way. The bullet that would have killed me tore through my deltoid muscle instead and shattered the window behind me. I skidding hard against the pavement as a second bullet went through the window of the car I'd just stood behind. Screams of terror rose up from all sides, and I scrambled back to crouch against the side of the car. I brought my knees to my chest, making myself as small as possible, and cradled my injured arm against my chest. People started running, shoving others out of the way in an attempt to escape. I took a deep breath, shaking all over. "Sam!" I screamed, covering my head as another window exploded, showing glass over me.

I was terrified. I was grounded, so I couldn't get away, and I couldn't run without being shot. Snipers were pretty high on my list of fears, behind losing loved ones and being captured by Hydra. I couldn't fight someone I couldn't see, and as much as I had desired death in the past, I didn't want to die now. I had to find James. And the idea of being killed, of him being alone, of me losing him, terrified me.

Sam burst through the front entrance of the diner and joined me, pulling a handgun from the waistband of his jeans. "Are you hurt?" he grabbed my uninjured shoulder and swore loudly when he saw the blood beginning to soak through my jacket. He grabbed my arm and cocked the gun. "Come on."

We took off at a run, sprinting down the street and joining the scores of frenzied civilians fleeing the scene. In the back of my mind, the word 'protect' repeated itself over and over, and so I forced Sam in front of me and ran straight, refusing to dart back and forth and so endanger the innocent. No more shots were fired.

Sam and I made it back to our hotel without incident, and we didn't stop moving until we reached our room. Though not for lack of finances, we decided to share a room—more because of my paranoia than anything else. If something happened, I wanted to know immediately. And this way if Sam or I were attacked, the other would notice and help immediately.

"You're lucky," Sam muttered, stitching up the deep cut. I hissed in pain and bit down harder on the towel wedged between my teeth. "It's just a flesh wound."

One downside to my miraculous healing—I was very sensitive to pain now that my calluses and scar tissue were gone—especially gunshot wounds, as I was now discovering.

I had showered as soon as we had reentered the room, cleaning out the bloody furrow and washing the blood from my arm and side, as well as the little glass cuts all over my face and back, which stung horribly. I spat out the fabric and slung my wet hair over my other shoulder as he tied the string off and stepped back to grab the gauze. I rose to my feet, rolling my shoulder. "It still hurts."

"Sit down," he commanded gently. I obeyed as he began wrapping the tape around my upper arm, hiding the stitches from view. I hissed in pain when he made the bandage too tight, and he sighed. "Easy, Katie. You've been through worse than this when you were shot before."

"I can't build up an immunity to gunshot wounds," I bit out, my eyes narrowing.

He fell silent. I stared blankly out the curtained window, grateful for such a high room—no sniper could get a good look at us from the ground, and Sam and I both could fly away if someone tried to set up a bomb or attack us in our room. Speaking of whom… "Did you get a look at who was shooting?" I asked him, looking up.

He shrugged, keeping his eyes on his work. "A glimpse," he replied, distracted.

When he fell silent, I began prompting, tapping his shin with my toe. "And?"

He sighed through his nose and cut through the gauze with a pair of scissors, setting the extra aside as he smoothed the bandage over my arm. He waited until he was settled to tell me the news. "Dark clothes. Powerful gun. No guarantee it was Bucky, but..." he shrugged. "I'm not sure how many other assassins are after you."

My heart leapt as a rush of adrenaline raced through my veins—it could be James!—and then it fell, and my stomach dropped to my toes. The smile vanished from my face.

"He tried to kill me," I said. My voice sounded flat.

"We don't know it was him."

I looked up, desperately searching for an answer in my friend's dark eyes. "Assume it was; why would he kill me?"

Sam shrugged and held his hands out before him. "I don't know. Could be he thinks you're Hydra. Maybe he thought you were someone else. I've seen him shoot—been on the receiving end, actually—he doesn't miss often. So either you got lucky, or it was a different person shooting. Considering the pains he's gone through to remember his past, I'd put my money on it being someone else."

"He stopped shooting when you came outside," I noted, thinking back on the day's events. "Does James know you?"

"He knows I'm with Steve, unless his memory's been scrambled again," Sam mused, not noticing when I flinched back. He stood and made his way into the bathroom, leaving me alone. "Could be that he recognized me as friendly, didn't want to risk hitting me," he continued, calling back over his shoulder. "Or could be that he wanted to be discreet, and the scene he caused was definitely causing some panic."

I stopped listening a while ago. What if James had been wiped again? What if Hydra had gotten ahold of him? It was no coincidence running into him today, I knew that—was he tracking me? He took my letter, but what if he didn't want me to find him? What if he was trying to find me, hurt me, kill me?

I shifted to rest on my stomach and moving a wing around to preen my feathers. "And if he thinks I'm Hydra?" I asked him. "You now have a target painted on your back."

He poked his head out of the bathroom. "Why would he think you're Hydra?"

"Because I was," I replied darkly, smoothing a crease between sections of a feather. "That's how the Winter Soldier knows me. and if he's gotten those memories…"

"Assume it's somebody else." He turned the shower on. "Why would they be trying to kill you?"

"They wouldn't. Any assassin worth her salt can kill without making it obvious to the target," I replied, somewhat defensive. "Besides, I have a lot of people trying to kill me, Hydra and Shield are only two. Either I have a low class trainee on my tail, or someone's trying to send a message."

Sam reemerged wearing flannel pajama pants, rubbing a towel against his cropped hair. "What message?"

I swallowed hard. Any non-prominent party's intentions would be difficult to decipher. But if it was James or Hydra, the message was easy to read. "Stay away."

~8~8~

"Like hell I will."

Sam chanced a glance at me, silently warning me to stay silent, but I was too furious to acknowledge him.

The Shield Agent looked as though she smelled something unpleasant. "Agent Rogers—"

"I'm not an Agent of Shield," I interrupted angrily, glaring up at the blonde. "I'm not under your jurisdiction. Why are you still keeping tabs on me?"

Her expression soured. "Because, despite the fact that you are dangerous, the Avengers seems to think you need our protection." Her tone made it clear what she thought about my friends' opinions, and that made me angry, despite the fact that I privately agreed with her.

"I appreciate their concern," I bit back on the growl that laced my words. "But I'm fine." I made to turn away. "I'm not stopping this search until James is safe."

The agent reached out and grabbed my injured shoulder, pulling me around. I hissed in response and jerked away. There was no way she could have known I had been shot there, but my fury rose all the same. "Agent—Rogers," she corrected herself. "You've already caused more than one scene. There was a shooting last week that terrified civilians, and to know that you were the intended target—"

I cut her off. Why, of everyone my fiends could have picked, had they picked her? Why couldn't Thor have been the one to deliver this message? Or Natasha? I was shaking with anger; I could barely see straight. "Just because I was being shot at doesn't mean—"

"Agent, if I may," Sam interrupted, pulling me back and putting himself between the two of us. "You can't stop us. Even if you tried to use force, it wouldn't work. I've seen you fight. You're good, but you're not as good as her. You would lose. All that would happen is that both sides would get pissed at one another, and the last thing we need right now is a war."

"Besides," I sidestepped my friend to look the blonde in the eye, "we want the same thing, yeah? We want Hydra to be taken down. We're on the same side."

"You almost killed my friend," she replied sharply, her hands moving to rest on the weapon at her hip. The way she said friend suggested that the word meant something much more than it should. "The last time you went berserker, you took out twenty agents. He's lucky to be alive. We are _not_ on the same side."

I went pale. "I'm sorry for that," I bit out, shifting my jaw. I hadn't known… but right now I was too pissed to bother with kindness and compassion. "Next time the Angel comes around, I'll see if I can talk her into sending you some flowers."

The agent's expression turned murderous, and her grip on her weapon of choice—iron batons—tightened. I reached into the pocket of my trench coat and pulled out a long, wickedly sharp knife, revealing only the pommel so as to keep passerby from panicking.

"Careful," I breathed, gauging her reaction. "You don't want to cause a scene."

Her lips twitched in amusement, and her eyes narrowed. "Well played, Rogers." She extended a hand to me, and I accepted warily, half expecting to be electrocuted by a buzzer or shot by a pistol hidden up her sleeve. Neither of us had dressed to put the other at ease: despite the August heat, we both wore jeans and long sleeves and jackets with a thousand hiding places for a gun or a knife. "You're making a big mistake," she murmured in my ear.

"We'll see."

"You shouldn't antagonize her," Sam murmured as we watched her walk away. A man with buzzed hair and sunglasses fell in step beside her.

"Wait." I pulled back, examining him closely. He was packing fire, but seemed harmless enough. "I know that man; I've seen him before."

"Lance Hunter," Sam clarified, nodding. He pushed me along, trying to get me to move. "Nice guy. English."

"He's the one I almost killed," I breathed, watching Agent Morse laugh at something he said. "The one who escaped. I recognize him."

"He got shot in the shoulder, apparently," Sam commented, finally succeeding at making me walk. We strolled down the street, and I scanned the buildings around us, searching for a shooter.

"Why'd she let him go?" I wondered aloud. Why didn't the Angel kill him? Was he really just lucky? Or did the Angel pull her punches, keep herself from killing him? Maybe I stopped her somehow, made her pull back.

An increased pressure over my left elbow jarred me back to the present. Sam's face tightened, and he slowed. "Woah, slow down." Dread filled my stomach.

"What is it?"

"Eleven o'clock. Sunglasses and black blazer."

I saw him—he was facing the street, not us, but that didn't mean anything. He was talking into a cell phone, standing at the intersection with his hand on the button as though waiting to cross the road—but a group of people was crossing already, and several people had bumped into him.

My gaze was drawn upward, and I caught the glint of sunlight off metal somewhere ahead of us.

"Meet at the hotel in two hours," I breathed, shaking my arm free of Sam's grip. "If I'm not back by then, call my brother."

"What? Katie, no!"

I broke into a sprint, dodging around pedestrians and making myself as prominent a target as I dared—I wanted to draw them away from Sam, but I didn't want to get shot. I glanced back to see Sam disappear down another street.

A moment later I was skidding across the sidewalk—I had tripped. Or had someone tripped me? I swore vilely and scrambled to my feet again, pressing my bloodied palms to my coat. I took a step and my knee buckled, sending me to the ground again. A loud pop had sounded in my ears, coming from my knee, which had jerked to the side at an unnatural angle. Shooting pain raced up my leg, and I screamed through gritted teeth. The ache pulsed in my head, making every movement agony, and tears sprang to my eyes.

"No, no—" I was panicking, beginning to lose all sense of reason in the face of death. It was funny how even the most trained assassins could be afraid of death if they had something to live for. I grit my teeth and tucked one leg under me, pushing off the ground and managing to make it a couple more feet before collapsing again. I was going to die. Why did I send Sam away?

A hand appeared in front of me as a large figure blocked my view of the sun. He grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet, and when my knee threatened to collapse, he placed his hand on my waist, holding me up as I sagged against him. I blinked, my vision adjusting to the sudden shade, and then stared into his face, feeling my own drain of color. Bright blue eyes, now dark with rage, burned into mine.

I couldn't move. I couldn't think. He was here. He was alive.

"James," I breathed.


	13. Chapter 13

"Move," James growled, walking forward and pulling me with him. "Quickly."

I was too shocked to fight him, and so I let him drag me along. He kept his body between me and the potential shooters, keeping his head down. My thoughts were too scrambled both from shock and pain to consider the danger of the situation I was in: all I could think of was the fact that James was here, helping me.

It wasn't until we made it to a small motel in one of the worse parts of Brooklyn that he let go of me, practically tossing me onto the bed in his room as he dead-bolted the door and shoved the dresser in front of the window. I shifted, stretching my throbbing left leg out in front of me. I pressed down on the area around my knee and bit back a yell of pain.

James finally turned back to me, and when he did, I was in too much shock to say anything. He looked the same. The same face, the same eyes, the same lips… and yet at the same time, he looked drastically different. His hair was longer, though not reaching his shoulders, his cheeks were sunken and scratchy with scruff, and his eyes were dark with anger. For the first time, I was struck with fear—I was afraid of him.

I shouldn't be here.

"Why are you looking for me?" he growled.

I licked my lips. My throat was dry. This was bad. I needed to leave—but it was James. And after so long searching, I couldn't leave now. I had to talk to him. "You escaped from Hydra," I whispered, inwardly wincing at the horrible start. "I-I wanted to—"

He gritted his teeth and took a step forward. I flinched at the sudden movement but didn't otherwise move. As much as I hated to admit it, I was afraid of him. I didn't know whom I was talking to: James or the Winter Soldier.

His eyes—so achingly familiar—narrowed, scanning my face. The lack of recognition frightened me and broke my heart. It was the first time in decades I had spoken to him—him, not an assassin—but my thoughts were scattered, and I couldn't think. "You're Hydra," he stated, breaking the silence. His metal arm, currently hidden under a jacket and glove, whirred impatiently.

I shook my head vehemently, beginning to tremble. "I'm not." What do I do? Oh, I wish I hadn't left Sam—was he okay? I was scared, and my heart betrayed my fear, pounding against my chest like a frightened rabbit. What if he killed me?

He reached behind him and pulled out an envelope. I made to move forward and he swung his metal arm around, almost catching me across the chest. He gripped my arm, and his hand tightened painfully around my injury. The gunshot wound was a week old, but it hadn't finished healing yet—and James's iron grip was pulling the stitches against my skin, threatening to tear them out.

I bit down on a scream, trying and failing to jerk away. He could easy break my arm if he wanted to—could probably rip it off, but he didn't. "You had this on you when you ate at the restaurant yesterday" he stated. His voice was rusty, but underneath it all was my James. "Why?"

"Because it belongs to me," I panted, biting down on my tongue to keep from screaming. Tears fell down my cheeks—my arm was on fire. James held my arm right over the wound, and it was all I could do to keep from shoving him off. I didn't want to hurt him. "You're hurting me." I gasped, a whimper escaping my lips.

He frowned down at the paper, either ignoring or not hearing my plea. "I recognize it," he murmured. A moment later he tucked it away, out of sight, and released my arm. I pulled it close, eyeing him warily through shimmering eyes. "You were tracking me," he stated again. "I know you worked for Hydra. You were their soldier."

"I was their prisoner—" I tried to interrupt, but he spoke over me.

"You killed for them."

 _So did you._ I said nothing.

His eyes narrowed further. "Why are you after me?"

"I'm not—"

James stood, his whole body tensing, and he covered my mouth as he tilted his head to one side, listening to something even I couldn't hear. "Shut up." He picked up a gun and left the room, going out the front. I could hear the steps creaking under his weight as he left.

Several minutes later, an explosion rocked the building.

"James?" I made to rise, and at that moment someone else stepped out of the bathroom, dark eyes glinting with amusement.

"I thought he'd never leave," the man said softly.

What do I do?

"Who are you?" I swallowed. I studied him, taking in the details, the dark clothing. "You're the sniper." He drove me out of hiding. "You tried to kill me."

He shook his head. "Startle," he corrected. "I wanted to draw you both out, and I did." He glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand.

Both?

He wanted James. He wanted the Winter Soldier. How could I have been so stupid? I should have listened to the agent, accepted her help—

"Mission report." When I didn't reply, he switched over to flawless Russian. _"Sosna."_

Pine.

I recoiled as a sharp pain stabbed at my mind. "What are you doing?"

 _"Chetyre."_

Four.

My jaw went slack, and then I realized what he was about to do. How he had realized it was possible, I didn't know—my handlers were long dead—but somehow this man knew. He was trying to call on the soldier Hydra had made me into. I had to get out of here. Even the Angel couldn't fight this, and if _she_ couldn't…

 _"Sherst'."_

Wool.

I leapt forward from the bed, fully intent on breaking down—or through—the door, but was knocked back by the man—he was stronger than I had realized, and I was injured. He caught me across the chest, knocking me back and pinning me down. He continued speaking. My head started to pound—it was as if someone was taking a power drill to my temple.

 _"Kapitan,"_ he panted, holding my wrists above my head and pinning my wings under me. Captain.

"Stop—" I couldn't breathe—from fear, from pain, from the weight of his body pressed against mine.

 _"Shest'."_

Six.

I was losing it—loosing myself—but without the Angel, what would I turn into?

"Shut up!" I screamed, forcing him off me. He fell backwards and I threw myself forward, disoriented. I could hear screams of pain, begging—was it me?

 _'"Mission Report," my handler passed by me, reading from a blood-red book embellished with a black star. Russian. They always spoke Russian. Whenever I could, I replied in English, but they hurt me when I did. I couldn't remember a time when it didn't hurt to exist. When I didn't immediately respond he backhanded me across the face. He then stepped back and cleared his throat. Several men stood at attention behind him._

 _He glanced at me, and a ghost of a smile flickered across his face. His lips parted. "Pine."_

 _I lurched forward, my eyes widening, and a bellow of pain escaped my lips as surely as though I'd been punched in the gut. No. Not again. Memories of torture, sleepless nights, starvation, electrocution, beatings—they all rushed through my mind like a tornado, clearing my mind of conscious thought. Highlighting every memory were nine words that had programmed me to become a monster. I started to scream, and men in white swarmed around me, holding me down as my handler continued, speaking over my screams._

 _My words were English, not Russian, but my screams could be understood by any people, in any language. "No—please, NO!"_

 _It felt as though someone were taking an ax to my forehead, splitting it open. Let me die. Let me die, let me die—_

 _When the last word was spoken, I fell silent, my mind blank. My voice matched his, echoing the Soviet tongue Katherine Rogers despised. "I am ready to comply."'_

The man continued to speak even as he struggled to get the wind back into his lungs. Did he know what he was doing? He had to. Why was he doing this? What would Hydra want with me? _"Pero."_ He took a deep breath, and his lips curled upwards in a bloody smile. _"Ambar."_

Feather. Barn.

I lurched towards the door and kicked it down, stumbling outside. I collapsed, my knee unable to support me anymore, but dragged myself up on the railing. Panic raced through me when I saw this man, so much stronger than me, stalking towards me. I could still hear him talking.

"Please, stop it!" Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I was almost gone. I could feel pain like an ice pick digging into my skull, boring away at my very identity.

 _"Odin."_

One.

"No!" I clamped my hands over my ears, praying that he would stop talking, that I wouldn't give in. I shook my head, trying to raise my voice to cover his. "No, no, no, no, NO!" I remembered the person who had brought me here, the one chance I had at protection—but this man wanted him. He wanted James to rescue me. So I didn't scream for him.

The man grabbed my wrists, forcing my hands away from my ears. His weight knocked me over. My back and wings pressed roughly against the ground, and he pressed his knee into my injured one. A scream tore from my lips—it hurt, God it hurt—and his dark eyes burned into mine, a maniacal glee shining in their depths.

 _"Snayper."_

Sniper.

 _'"Get what you need done," Clint smiled, clapping my shoulder as he left the room. "I'll see you soon."_

 _I curled up in a ball on the window seat and pulled out James's final letter to me—Steve had found it in a box in one of Shield's storage units and had sent it to me. It was time; I didn't know if I'd have a chance to read it later. My stomach lurched with apprehension as I unfolded the decades-old papers and began to read._

 _'My darling Fiancée,_

 _If you are reading this, it likely means that the unthinkable has happened. If it hasn't, and I am still with you, get rid of this letter right now. I mean it, Darling, throw it away, give it back to me, it doesn't matter. But if you're reading this because I'm gone, then read it to the end._

 _Do you remember when we met? You were standing up for Steve when the two of you were being picked on, back in one of those Brooklyn back alleys little kids should never be playing in. I noticed you at once-not because of your curls or your eyes, but because I'd never seen such a brave girl before. And you know what? You've only grown braver. It's how I know you can make it through this. You've made it through so much: losing your mom, breaking your ankle right before I left for war, Steve leaving to go overseas... And you coming to get me in Azzano. I still can't believe you came to get me, and I still can't decide whether you were stupid or brave to do it. Probably both. You love deeply, Katie, and I love that about you. Just stay out of trouble, alright? For my sake; otherwise I'll be rolling over in my grave quite a bit._

 _I love you more than words can say, Katie, I always have. And I don't have the words to express how badly it hurts to have to write this right now. I wish I could assume that everything will be alright, that nothing will happen to me, but I'm not that naive. You told me a few minutes ago that you had a bad feeling about this mission I'm about to leave for, and if you end up being right, I want you to know how sorry I am. I don't want you to come with me, although I don't doubt that you'll end up coming anyway. Katie, if something happens to me, I don't want you to blame yourself. You tried to warn me, and I didn't listen, and I'm sorry. Whatever happens, know that I love you, and know that I don't blame you. I've never blamed you._

 _I know how broken you must be right now, and that's alright. It's alright to be upset, to be heartbroken, and if anyone tells you different, have your brother knock him down a few pegs. But you've always been stronger than what life has thrown at you, Katie. It doesn't matter what-you mom, my leaving, Steve's transformation, my capture... You've always beaten it. And even when you were captured too, you still made it out alive. But Katie: you're strong, you're not invincible. It's okay to be broken, Doll. It's okay to cry and to scream and be angry, but once you've calmed down, I want you to remember that you're stronger than my death. Your identity isn't found in me, Darling._

 _Do you remember what you did when I shipped out? Right before I had to leave, you prayed for me. You stopped me right there on the platform and prayed-the other boys who saw you said they were moved almost to tears, because the sight of you gave them hope. I never told you, but it's one of the reasons I chose to call you Angel: because that's what you are; you shine light and bring hope to everyone around you. Every time something bad has happened, you've prayed. I know that it's gonna be hard; you're gonna be angry and hurt, and that's okay-just don't forget to pray. God loves you more than I ever could. Remember that, and you'll be just fine. I know you don't want to hear that right now, and that's okay, but I want you to keep on loving people like you always have. I don't want you to hate the people who took me from you._

 _Do you remember Pamela Baker? She was in grade school with Steve and I, and when we were eighteen, she spread that nasty rumor about the two of us. I'm not going to repeat it; I'm sure you remember. But do you remember what you did? You stopped me from confronting her, and instead you went and spoke to her yourself. And what do you know? Turns out she was jealous, thought we were seeing each other. Guess she ended up being right, but anyway, she apologized to us and her sister ended up being a good friend of yours. You see the good in people, Katie; don't let my death tarnish your view of the world._

 _Here's the thing, Angel. You deserve to be happy. You are beautiful, wonderful, MINE, but I want you to be happy. And if that means that you never love anyone else, then alright, so long as you're happy. But if it means that you grow up and marry another man, that's okay too, although I want him to have Steve, Peggy, and the Commandos' approval before you marry him. I'll love you no matter what you do._

 _But most important, I want you to remember that you couldn't have changed what happened. You couldn't have stopped the bullet or the knife or whatever took me down. You're pretty darn close, but you're not perfect. You can't do everything, including the impossible. You couldn't save me-and that's okay._

 _I'm so sorry I couldn't give you the family that you wanted, but I want you to know that you are my family. You are home. You made these last few years bearable, Darling. Whether I'm back in Brooklyn or here in Europe, I'm home because I'm with you._

 _I want you to—'_

I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. I was lying on a stone floor in an almost completely bare room. Water dripped from the ceiling—it was raining outside, and the roof was leaking. I felt like I had been hit by a battering ram.

I tried to sit up and hissed in pain, biting back an obscenity as I fell back against the ground. There was no way I could stand—there was a good chance my ribs were broken; I could barely breathe. I was no longer wearing a coat, and my wings were folded against my back. A long gash ran down the length of my forearm, and one of my eyes was swollen shut. One of my teeth was loose, too, and blood from a knot on my head had dried, making my face stiff.

I pressed my face into my hands and made to roll over onto my side to pull my knees to my chest—or tried to, at least. My left knee was stiff and hurt so badly that I nearly passed out when I tried to move it. What happened?

"Don't move."

My head whipped around so quickly that I nearly gave myself whiplash. I bared my teeth in a snarl and tried to drag my body away, glaring defiantly at the man hidden in the shadows behind me. My memories… they were gone. Or scattered, at least. I remembered most things, but not what had caused me to black out.

"What the hell did you do to me?" I snarled, trying to rise and instead managing only to jar my bad leg. The motion forced a pained cry from my lips, and I fell back against the ground once more.

The figure moved forward a little but then thought better of it, staying where he was. "Don't move," he repeated.

"Did you do this to me?" I swallowed thickly. I can't remember. I can't remember. I can't remember.

It wasn't until the third time that I realized I was repeating the phrase out loud.

He hesitated, but nodded. "Yes."

I leaned back, trying to move as far away from him as possible. "Why did you hurt me?"

"Hydra."

It all came back now—the sniper resetting me, turning me into a weapon again. Of course anyone would think I was Hydra—I couldn't think for myself when I was under their control. What would James think? Did he think I was his enemy?

"Oh, God." I pressed my bloody hands to my face, biting back a sob. I wasn't strong enough. They took over my mind. What had they made me do? How long ago was that? Where was I? What happened to me? What… did I hurt anyone? My voice was muffled. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. I knocked you out before you could hurt anyone else."

He knocked me out. Just like he had in Russia, when he disobeyed orders—when he refused to kill me, just as he had on the bridge. "James?" my voice shook.

The man looked up, and his eyes caught on a sliver of light that managed to break through a crack in the ceiling. His tone changed, growing cold. "Stop following me."

He turned to leave, and I surged forward. "James, wait—"

He moved more quickly than I could process. In an instant he was by my side, but not for comfort—his metal hand pressed against my collarbone, forcing my shoulders and head back against the ground. His flesh hand was tangled in my hair, and one of his fingers brushed against the bruised skin of my forehead. "Do. Not. Follow. Me," he growled, pressing harder.

The breath left my lungs as his hand put too much pressure on a cracked rib, and I cried out, shaking. I reached up and caught hold of his jacket, pulling his face closer to mine so I could see his eyes, make him stop. There was no recognition there, only pain, and that realization, the knowledge that he didn't know me—it broke my heart. I released him, and my hand fell back.

James swallowed hard and clenched his teeth. "If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."


	14. Chapter 14

_James and I had a date. I had a special feeling about this one, and butterflies filled my stomach. James had given me a kiss before he left on his mission, told me that he had a question to ask me the moment he got back. I couldn't help but wonder if it was the question, and so I had dressed for the occasion. I was wearing a light blue dress, one of my prized possessions, and my hair hung down my back in soft curls. I was still barefoot, rushing around to make sure I had everything ready._

 _"Katie." I turned around to see my brother standing in the doorway. He was still wearing his Captain America uniform, and pieces of snow still clung to his hair. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. His knees and elbows were stained, and mud had splattered up on his legs. His gloveless hands were bright red from cold, and his helmet dangled from his fingers._

 _"Steve!" I rushed forward and caught my brother in a hug, barely noticing that he didn't hug me back. I pulled away. "Have you seen James?" I turned back around, checking under my bed for my shoes and grinning when I found them. "He's supposed to meet me in a few minutes."_

 _"Katie—"_

 _"I can't wait to see him," I continued, tossing a radiant smile over my shoulder. I hopped on one foot, pulling a shoe on over my stockings, and held the other one to my chest. "I missed him." I just wanted to see him, to know he was okay. I couldn't stop smiling._

 _"Katherine."_

 _I turned and looked at my brother, confused and surprised by his sharp tone and use of my full name. The smile slowly faded from my lips. "Steve?" I frowned, letting my shoe drop to the floor. "What's wrong?"_

 _His bottom lip trembled, and his helmet fell from his hand, striking the floor sharply. I jumped at the sound and hugged my middle, my nails digging into my sides through the soft material. I eyed my brother warily, my gaze darting down to rest on the mask that stared up at me from its place on the floor._

 _"Steve, what is it?" I swallowed as dread began to overwhelm me. My eyes darted to the doorway and back as my hands began to shake. What could possibly be wrong? My brother was okay, obviously, but there was no one else that could be hurt except—Where was James? If Steve was back, then James must be too, but he wasn't here. "Where's James?" I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. "Is he going to be late?"_

 _My brother shook his head and swallowed thickly. "No—no, he's not gonna be late."_

 _"Then where is he? He is coming, right?" My voice cracked. A hundred scenarios fled through my mind. Was he hurt? Killed? What had happened? Where was he? Surely he would walk through the door in a second, a bright smile on his face and laughter in his eyes. My body began to tremble uncontrollably as my heart sped up. When Steve didn't answer, I snapped. My voice lifted into a half sob, half scream. "Right?!"_

 _Steve shook his head and broke down. He took a deep, choking breath and clenched his hands into fists, lifting them and then letting them drop down by his sides. "He's not coming home."_

I always woke up screaming.

I used to have a similar nightmare all the time back in the 40s both before and after I went overseas with my brother. Every night when I went to sleep without knowing exactly where James was, I would dream that he was killed in action and that he was never coming home. That one was the worst, and it occurred for almost three weeks, up until the day James died. Once he fell, the nightmares got worse, and all I could see was him falling, all I could hear were his screams.

One night only a couple days before he proposed, the Commandos returned from a raid a few days early. James came into my room to surprise me: he didn't expect to find me curled up in a mess of sheets and pillows, crying my eyes out.

 _"Katie! Darlin', what's wrong?"_

 _A moment later a pair of strong arms wound their way around me, lifting me up out of the suffocating nest of bedding and pulling me into James's chest. He held me tightly, pressing his lips to my forehead._

 _"It's okay, Katie." His thumb rubbed soothing circles on my shoulder, and I clung to him like a lifeline. Steve's words still echoed in my head: he's not coming home. He's not coming home. He's not coming home._

 _Another sob tore from my lips, and James's hold on me tightened. He didn't say another word; he just waited in patient silence for me to find my voice. When I finally calmed down enough to speak, the front of his jacket was soaked in tears._

 _I pulled back and pressed my hands to his cheeks, memorizing his face. "You're alive," I whispered, confirming that my fear was unfounded, that the man I loved was alive with me, safe. "You came back."_

 _"Yeah, Katie." James pressed another kiss between my eyes, letting his jump between mine. "What happened? We heard you yell…"_

 _I looked away, noticing for the first time that Dum-Dum and Steve both stood in the doorway. Both still wore their uniforms, and Steve's shield still hung from his right arm._

 _"Are you alright?" Unlike James, none of the other men entered my room. My brother examined me from his place in the hall, worried._

 _I nodded, not trusting myself to speak._

 _James waved them away once Steve was somewhat appeased. As soon as the door was shut once more, he turned back to me, taking my cold hands in his warm ones. James had always been like a furnace, something I never really appreciated much until this moment. He squeezed my hand. "What happened?"_

 _"You didn't come home," I choked out, taking a sharp intake of breath as another wave of tears sprang to my eyes. "S-Ste-ev-ve came home b-b-but you di-idn't, a-a-and—"_

 _"Hey, I'm here now." He hugged me close once more, and his warmth seeped through the blankets and warmed my chilled bones. "I'm here."_

 _I gripped the front of his jacket tightly. "B-but wh-wha-at if you do-on't come back?" I hiccupped, gritting my teeth. I took a deep breath and held it, trying to calm my fear and tears, but all it did was make me tremble harder._

 _"I'll always come back," he murmured into my hair. "I'll always come home to you."_

"No you won't."

His eyes narrowed, and the pressure on my chest increased so that I cried out, biting my tongue. My breathing was ragged, and blood stained my mouth; I could feel it coating my teeth and lips.

"You won't kill me," I repeated, tightening my grip on his jacket. His lips parted, revealing clenched teeth. "You made me a promise."

Confusion overtook the anger in his gaze, and the pressure on my chest lessened a little. His scowl dissolved as his jaw relaxed. Clearly he was trying to remember when and why he made a promise to Hydra's pet assassin—and it seemed he was failing. He ground his teeth in frustration.

One of my hands moved from his shoulder to his chest, and I pressed my palm against his jacket over his heart. I couldn't feel his heartbeat, not through the thick fabric and leather, but I knew it was there. "You feel that?" I whispered, feeling a tear fall down my cheek and into my ear. "You made a promise, once." He tilted his head a bit, his bows scrunching together. "Y-you said that as long as that's beating, you'd love me, and that you'd never let anything hurt me."

A flicker of recognition left his eyes wide and vulnerable, and in an instant he had flung himself off of me. He stood a few feet away, blue eyes wide and terrified. Water from the ceiling dripped down onto his metal arm, moving down to his fingers and gathering in a small puddle on the floor. "I know you," he whispered.

My heart leapt, and I took as sharp a breath as I could without crying out. I couldn't breathe for a moment, but after a few tense seconds I was able to speak again. "What's my name?"

James swallowed. My heart beat against my chest like a drum; I could see my chest moving with the force of it. His tongue passed over his lips, and his brows furrowed. "I know you."

My voice shook. "James, Darlin', what's my name?"

 _"Katie?"_

 _I looked over my shoulder to see James running towards me, calling my name. When he caught my attention, he slowed, and he managed to stop when he reached my side. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, glancing around furtively at the boot camp. Many man were out training, and therefore being kept in check, but a few lounged around, catcalling when they saw me._

 _"Why didn't you wait for me at the front?" he sent a menacing glare at one of the offending soldiers. The man in question backed off when he caught sight of James's protective stance. One of his buddies had a black eye. "I was coming to meet you."_

 _"What happened to him?" I asked instead, nodding towards the injured man._

 _A dry smile pulled at his lips, but I could see the anger brewing behind his eyes. "He's the one who messed with you last time you were up here."_

 _I swallowed, feeling my throat tighten. "He's the one you punched?"_

 _James nodded, not looking remotely abashed. I sighed. "James—"_

 _"Don' give me none a' that," he scowled, glancing down at me. His grip tightened minutely as another man with red hair wolf whistled at the sight of me. I shrank against James's side slightly, swallowing hard. "They should be treating you like a friggin' princess, not a piece a' meat. Any man that hits a lady deserves what's coming to him."_

 _I shook my head and let him steer me further away from the men resting beneath the tree. "I started it—"_

 _"Hey." James gently pulled me to a stop, a frown distorting his handsome features. His blue eyes narrowed, and his lips parted slightly. "You tellin' a guy off for hitting on you isn't startin' anything."_

 _"But I—"_

 _"He tried to touch you, Katie." His grip tightened slightly. He looked slightly panicked as he tried to make me understand. "And when you tried to shove him off, he hit you." His finger lightly brushed the fading bruise on my cheek that, despite my best efforts, I had been unable to cover up. "He deserved what was coming to him." His expression made it clear that the man was lucky to have his life._

 _"I don't want you to get in trouble," I murmured, touched by his efforts nonetheless. "I don't want you to get hurt."_

 _"I'm always gonna defend you, Katie." James looked down at me as if puzzled I hadn't figured it out already. "Don't you know that?"_

 _I fell silent, pleasantly flustered, and we walked in silence for almost a minute before he spoke again._

 _"By the way," he added suddenly. I glanced up as he pulled a pink flower—evening primrose—from his back pocket. "This is for you."_

 _A shy blush bloomed across my cheeks as I accepted the flower. "It's beautiful," I brought it to my nose and smiled as the silky soft petals brushed against my skin. "Thank you."_

 _James started talking again, telling me about training and the new cinema that was coming out soon and about how he hoped he would be put in the 107th Infantry. We walked all around the camp, talking and laughing. I put his flower in my hair, tucking it behind my ear, much to his delight. I told him about home and school and Steve, who was about to go register for the army again—and was about to ask him when he was leaving when a shout cut me off._

 _"Hey, Buck!" A stocky but tall young man with dark hair and a crooked grin approached the two of us at a dead sprint. He ran like a deer, flying over the grass and over the dirt road, somehow managing to appear graceful when he stopped rather than pinwheeling his arms in a panic. He stopped and stood a respectful distance away. He tilted his chin, offering me a genuine smile, which I returned. "Ma'am." His gaze returned to James. "Colonel Phillips wants you."_

 _James nodded, suddenly serious. Before I could process, he bent down and pressed a hurried kiss to my cheek. "Danny can take you to the front gate." He gave me a strange look, and I could've sworn that I saw him blush. "When can I see you again?"_

 _"Phillips…" the other soldier reminded him, glancing back worriedly._

 _"Right." James took off running in the direction Danny had pointed. "See you soon, Katie!"_

 _James's friend offered me an apologetic smile and began walking, leaving me no choice but to follow. The brown eyed young man struck up polite conversation as we walked, introducing himself as Daniel Sousa. He made sure to redirect our path to elude any unpleasant peoples and shield me from the remarks of those we couldn't avoid._

 _"Thank you, Daniel," I smiled at him when we reached the front entrance of the camp. I had caught a train and walked the rest of the way—I wouldn't have a problem doing so again. Daniel pleasantly refused, telling me that a young female agent had charged him with walking me back, having heard that I was visiting._

 _I thanked him once more when we reached the station, where a train was scheduled to pull in in half an hour; I was early. "Keep James out of trouble, will you?" I glanced back in the direction of the camp._

 _"James? Oh, Bucky." Daniel laughed. "I'll try. Don't know how effective I'll be, though."_

 _"What do you mean?" I asked curiously, moving to tuck a curl behind my ear. A smile spread across my cheeks when my fingers brushed the flower that remained tucked safely in my hair._

 _Daniel observed this, smiling wryly. "He cares about you a lot, ma'am."_

 _"Katie," I replied immediately. "Please. Call me Katie."_

 _"Katie," he agreed._

 _"There haven't been…" I swallowed, flushing. "Any other girls up at the camp, have there?"_

 _Daniel must have understood my question, because he threw back his head and laughed richly. Not at me, though, I quickly understood. "No, ma'a—Katie," he corrected himself quickly. "'sides, even if there were, I doubt he'd give them a second glance."_

 _"Don't want him forgetting about me," I said with a smile, only half joking._

 _"Are you kidding?" Daniel chuckled, giving me a nod as he turned to leave. "He talks about you like you hung the stars in the sky. No way he'd ever forget about you."_

"Katie." The second time he spoke, his voice was stronger, richer. The man I had loved and lost shone through the tattered mask, light and love shining in his eyes. In an instant, he crossed to my side, caressing my face as though he couldn't believe I was real. My name was to him like water to a man dying of thirst; he couldn't get enough. Tears filled his eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks, and his voice broke. "Katie."

He pulled me into his arms carefully, mindful of my injuries, and his hand brushed against my face. He swallowed thickly, and more hot tears dripped down his cheeks, landing on my stomach and neck. He was apologizing over and over, his sharp gaze scanning over my injures—some of which he must have inflicted himself—as he did so. He looked devastated, broken by the knowledge that he had hurt me. He took my hand in his metal one, holding it as though it were made of glass.

"I know you," he whispered, a smile pulling at his lips. "Katie."

It was as though time had frozen. This was James. My fiancé, the man I loved, the man I would give my life for time and again without the slightest hesitation. This was the man who I had fought for, lied for, killed for. This was the man who had pursued and protected me for years, the one who had been my rock, my confidant, my friend—he was the one who had fought through mind control and torture for me, and he was here, and he knew me.

I could feel hot tears staining my own cheeks, from both happiness and pain. In that moment, I didn't care that I was hurt. I didn't care that I could barely breathe, that I was alone, that I was being hunted. I didn't care about any of it. None of it mattered because the man I loved was here, and he knew me, and I didn't have to search anymore because he had found me.

I couldn't find the words to speak. I doubt that I could have said a word even if I had had the voice to do so. My mind was blank with joy so great it is impossible to imagine unless you yourself have felt it; my heart was full to bursting of it. I was crying and smiling, happy and at the same time grieving all the time we could have had but had lost. All the 'what if's flew out the window in that moment of time I shared with the man I loved, because he had found me, and he knew me.

James's right hand cupped my cheek, and breathed out, his eyes memorizing my face. He swallowed, and his shoulders relaxed as though a great burden had been lifted from them. His voice was strong and sure this time, and I had no doubt in my mind or heart that he meant every word that he spoke.

"I love you."

And then he kissed me.


	15. Chapter 15

James kissed me. The fire and anticipation in my chest settled, but then it roared back and took on a life of its own. He pulled me closer to him, and despite the pain I felt, I clung to him as well, running my hands through his hair.

"James," I whispered as he pulled me closer and he deepened the kiss, angling his head so that he could explore. I couldn't tell if I was feeling faint from him kissing me, or from the concussion, but I was pretty sure it was from the kiss. His scruffy facial hair tickled my lips and neck as he rested his head on my shoulder, and I did the same, catching my breath. I kissed his jawline and nudged it up with my nose, bringing his face up as our lips met once more. His lips were cracked, but I didn't care. They still showed the same passion, if not more than the last time he kissed me so long ago. Our lips danced across each other, moving in perfect synchronization as I wrapped my arms behind his neck and his arms surrounded my waist.

At the moment, time stood still. There was no Hydra, there was nobody hunting us or trying to separate us; all that had happened in the past was non-existent. All there was was James and I, reunited, together at last.

When we finally pulled apart, we stayed entwined together and leaned our foreheads together, catching our breath. I was blushing and smiling like I had when James proposed to me all those years ago. I stared up at James through stinging eyes, biting my lip to keep my grin in check. I wanted to laugh and cry all at once. There was so much I wanted to say, but I forgot how to say it. It didn't really matter: I felt like we said everything that needed to be said through that kiss.

"Wow," I murmured, reaching up and tangling my fingers in his thick hair. He hummed and leaned into my touch. The smile that lit up his face was brighter than the sun and warmed me more fully than the star could ever dream of doing. His cerulean eyes were glowing, staring down at me with such intense emotion that I forgot how to breathe.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing me again with so much passion, and holding me so tight that for a split second I allowed myself to believe that I would never be taken from him again. I didn't know how much time passed, I just knew that we were together. Both of our lips were puffy and eyes were wet with tears as we pulled away, only to hug each other closer.

"I love you too," I whispered. My voice muffled by his jacket. I rested my head on his shoulder while he mirrored my actions. His scruff scratched against my neck, but I didn't care. I turned my head a little, and my nose brushed against his neck. "I missed you." My voice cracked, and his grip on me tightened.

He sighed deeply, pressing his forehead deeper into the crevice between my shoulder and my neck. "I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"I thought I'd never see you again. I can't believe…" I took a shuddering breath and swallowed hard.

"It's alright," he whispered.

"How much do you remember?" I asked him softly.

"About you?" he chuckled, and the sound reverberated deep in his chest; I could feel it in mine. "Quite a bit. About anything else… it's hazy. But bits and pieces are coming back."

"The more time passes, the more things will come back," I whispered, shifting my position to curl up in his lap, resting my head on his chest. I could feel his chin resting on top of my head, and I smiled a little as his arms moved to surround my waist. He was being very careful, making sure to keep his metal arm from touching my skin and making sure not to put too much pressure on my ribs which, I just realized, I couldn't feel.

"How do you know?"

Maybe he remembers less than he realizes. I didn't want to tell him, not now, but… I'd regret it later if I withheld the truth from him now. He nudged me, encouraging me to go on. "Hydra held me prisoner until nineteen ninety-one," I murmured softly. I felt him stiffen against me, felt his breathing hitch. "You helped me try to escape several times, and you're the reason I made it out alive. I stayed hidden in the woods until about a year ago. Up until I was wiped again, I remembered everything that had happened to me. When I—"

"What do you mean that you were wiped again?" James interrupted, sounded panicked. He held onto me tight, as if this were a nightmare and he feared that I would disappear into mist if he loosened his grip on me.

I instantly stiffened as the memory of fear and pain and dripping walls crashed over me. Goosebumps raced up my arms and down my back. "H-Hydra caught up to me a year ago. They took me to their base, tortured me. Wiped me. Steve—my brother—found me, got me out."

James didn't answer, but his hand had curled into a fist. I squirmed around, gasping at the pain the movement caused, and caught his face in my hands. "James?"

His eyes were wide and panicked, his pupils had dilated, the black nearly swallowing the blue. His body began to shake, and cold sweat began to bead on his forehead and upper lip as the blood drained from his face. "I hurt you," he whispered. He was staring over my shoulder as though watching a memory take place in front of his eyes. I knew what he was looking at, because I watched him shoot Eli. I fought him on that rooftop, I felt him hold me down when they cut off my wings. I watched him stand and do nothing while I screamed for help. But I had also felt him pull himself off of me. I saw him lurch forward when I screamed his name, saw the recognition flash in his eyes before the Winter Soldier took over again. What would he see? What would he feel?

His breathing grew ragged, and his chest heaved as he fought for breath. "I held you down," he rasped, swallowing and gasping for air. "I helped them hurt you—" his shaking hand brushed along the tip of my wing. His eyes finally met mine, and his expression broke my heart. He looked like a child: lost, broken, afraid. "I'm so sorry," he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut and bowing his head, resting it on my chest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—"

"James." I caught his hand in mine and held it close to my chest. "Look at me."

He didn't obey, but I continued speaking anyway. I reached up with a free hand and brushed through his hair, but the motion didn't calm him like it always had before. Instead he tensed up at my touch. "I'm okay now. Do you hear me?"

He shook his head, fighting to breathe. "I hurt you."

"I forgive you," I stressed, my voice breaking as I spoke the words that no one had ever said to me. Those were the words I so desperately needed to hear, the ones no one had ever said to me. In the decades I had been a prisoner, no one had forgiven me. In the years I hid in the woods, I had not forgiven myself. In the year since I had come forward into the world once more, when I found my brother and made friends and found a family, no one had forgiven me. Even the ones I loved whom I had hurt had withheld the words from me. Maybe that was why everything hurt so badly. No matter how many times people told me I had changed, or that they loved me, or that it wasn't my fault, no one had forgiven me. And even though I didn't deserve to be forgiven, it still hurt. Because I was guilty, and I had been found wanting.

James didn't need to carry that burden: I forgave him a long time ago.

"D'you hear me?" my voice broke, and suddenly I was sobbing, crying my eyes out. I pressed my forehead against his, my fingers tightening around his chin and jaw. I was shaking nearly as badly as he was. One of his hands rested on the small of my back still, and it pulled me closer to him. My heart swelled when I realized that there was hope for James, even if there wasn't hope for me. He would make it. "I forgive you for everything. It wasn't your fault. I forgive you. I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you."

~8~8~8~

"Who was it that did this to you?"

I stared up blankly at Sam and Steve as Bruce set my ribs, binding them tightly with cloth. Tears stung my eyes, and I looked down, hissing in pain. The gears in my mind whirred frantically to try and come up with an answer that didn't hurt Steve or James—I had just made up with Steve, I didn't need to hurt him again, not where James was concerned. I couldn't lie to him about James again—but I couldn't let James get hurt, not when he was answerable to so many crimes he didn't remember committing.

"I don't know," I bit out, guilt eating at me. I didn't want to lie, especially to Steve. But this was James. His freedom was at stake, and I wasn't about to let Shield or Hydra or anyone else catch up with him. "A Hydra agent."

 _"You need to make things right with your brother," James told me, leaning me back against the ground. My ribs groaned in protest, but I nodded, biting my tongue to keep any pained noises from escaping. His hand cupped the back my head, making sure I didn't smack it against the ground when he set me down._

 _I gripped his jacket sleeve tightly. "I don't want you to leave." I'd just got him back, and I didn't know when I'd see him again. He said he was going somewhere to start over, to settle down, and that he'd find me when he was ready. He said he wanted to clear his head, regain more memory, and I understood that. It was only because I had been where he was that I agreed._

 _"I know." He pressed his lips to my forehead, his stubble scratching my skin, and a tear escaped my closed eyes._

 _"I'll find you," he whispered, running his thumb gently along the curve of my cheekbone and wiping the tear from my cheek. "I promise."_

"He took you off the street?" Steve looked doubtful. "And you went with him?"

"I thought he was someone else, at first," I murmured, staring down at my bloodied hands. "He helped me up after I blew out my knee—" the knee that was currently stretched out in front of me, wrapped in bags of ice, "—And took me to a hotel in a bad part of town. He reset me using Hydra's playbook. I don't know how I managed to escape."

The majority of the story was true. I just didn't tell him the most important parts—James saved me. He woke me up. He kissed me.

I felt my cheeks warm at the memory and started to cough to cover it up. The sound changed to a cry of pain as the movement jarred my ribs, and I nearly passed out when I felt one bone grind against another.

"Easy," Bruce rested a large hand on my back, steadying me. I gripped his sleeve in my free hand, pressing the other against my chest. The feeling of bone on bone made me queasy, and Bruce did his best to help me, knowing it would be far worse for my to start vomiting—then my torso would be contracting, my ribs would be moving… it wouldn't be good for my health. "Breathe."

"Tony," Steve glanced over his shoulder at the scientist. "Try and find out all you can about this sniper and get back to me as soon as possible."

Tony saluted my brother and nodded in my direction, his eyes softening in an almost pitying manner. "Sure thing, Cap."

"Any idea why he wanted you?" Sam asked, sitting backwards in a chair and folding his arms behind his head.

I shook my head. _To get to James_. "No idea."

"Alright, here's where we are as far as your injuries are concerned." Bruce came around to stand in front of me, reading off a clipboard. He didn't look amused. "From serious to superficial injuries, you have three broken and three bruised ribs, a dislocated knee, and a concussion."

"A concussion is superficial?" Sam lifted an eyebrow, and Bruce shook his head.

"I wasn't finished. She also has a healing gunshot wound to the shoulder, a bruised wrist, a split lip, and a black eye. She's also slightly dehydrated." The doctor gave me a dark look and pointed a pen at me threateningly. My eyebrows rose in surprise, and I sat up straighter. "You're lucky they found you when they did. A few more hours and infection would have set into your arm."

 _Lucky me._

I ran my hand over the back of my neck as Clint and Natasha entered the room, thinking about what had happened. Because the sniper—some random Hydra agent, I guessed—had found me, had controlled me… James had fought me off, kept me away from civilians. How had he found me? My brow furrowed as I began paying attention to the slightly raised portion of my skin—and I shot to my feet when all the pieces came together and I realized what it might be.

"There's a tracker in my neck," I suddenly rasped.

"Bruce!" Clint yelled. The doctor reentered the room, listened to Clint's brief explanation, and got to work.

I reached out and snagged the sleeve of Bruce's coat. I felt my nails dig into his skin but was too hyped up to care. "Get it out."

"How do you know it's there?" Bruce tugged himself free and made his was around me to examine the spot, pulling my hair up and out of the way as he did so.

"Call it a gut feeling," I breathed, trying to keep from panicking. That was how the sniper had found me; using the tracker. It was how Hydra had monitored me—they knew that my brain waves had shifted, somehow, and knew that Katie had overcome the Angel; they knew I'd be powerless to fight back.

"She's right." Bruce went to work right away, not bothering with pain relievers. No one spoke until he was done removing it. It hurt, but not any more than my ribs and knee already did. "It's small, nearly undetectable. It will take a little while to know for sure, but I think you're right about it's primary function: keeping track of your whereabouts and monitoring your vitals and brainwaves."

"Destroy it." Clint spoke for me. "That damn thing has caused enough trouble." Without warning, he pulled me into an embrace, nearly pulling me off the table. I responded hesitantly, unsure of myself, and balanced on my good leg, all the while trying to take as small breaths as possible. "I'm glad you're safe."

I smiled, but found myself crying anyway. I had missed this—having people who cared about me, despite what I'd done.

"Katie—you didn't kill Eli."

I stared at him in shock. "What?"

Steve stepped up. "The blood on the site where they found me—it wasn't his. It belonged to several Hydra agents who head been apart of Shield before its fall."  
"I didn't kill him?"

"No." He took a breath. "I'm sorry you've had to go through all this," Clint murmured when he finally pulled away. He brushed a stray curl back from my face, being careful to avoid the prevalent bump that now resided at the edge of my hairline.

"Its okay," I whispered, pressing my lips together as my throat tightened. He nodded quickly and left the room. _'I forgive you for everything. It wasn't your fault. I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you.'_

"Hydra did a good job covering their tracks," Natasha explained, resting her hand on my shoulder as she turned back to the other men in the room. "Unfortunately, they weren't good enough. The sniper left plenty of skin samples and fingerprints over the area where you were attacker. After that, it wasn't difficult to find the sniper."

"Thank you."

Natasha offered me a small smile. "I think it's high time we go and cut off Hydra at the roots." She glanced down at me, and her smile curved into a wicked smirk. I was suddenly very glad that she and I were, if not friends, at least allies. I had a brief flashback to the time when she was doing her best to bring me into Shield and was very glad that the whole issue had been resolved. "What do you say, Ms. Rogers?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her amber eyes glittered. "I think it's time we started cutting off some heads."

A delighted, wicked grin stretched across my face. If I couldn't be with James now, the least I could do would be to make sure we had a safe world to live in once we were together again. Besides, Natasha was right. It was time for Hydra to pay for what they had done to me, to James, to Steve.

"When do we start?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Four Months Later**

"You sure about this?" I pulled on a pair of iron-studded leather gloves as the Quinjet moved to land. Snow blew around wildly, making the earth difficult to see, but Tony piloted the plane without too much trouble.

"Positive." Clint shot a grin in my direction as he pulled on his long leather jacket. Several months ago, he enlisted Natasha and I to go help him find something suitable to wear on missions—and while he did just that, he and his partner also had another agenda: getting me a suit. Apparently jeans and sliced up leather jackets weren't adequate combat gear, and since I refused to wear my getup from the 40s… They ended up settling on a suit built similar to Natasha's: pale gray, tight leather that still somehow left room to move and concealed a surprising amount of weapons. It also had an open back to allow flight—unfortunately, in weather like this, it did not provide much warmth. When Tony had learned of this, he had fashioned a back to the suit that acted almost as a breastplate, covering my entire torso and back in a grafted metal that was light enough to still allow flight and, thankfully, kept bullets at bay.

Because of the infamous reputation that went before me, particularly with Hydra, Steve had suggested a mask—until we pointed out that there were very few winged beings besides me that would be attacking Hydra. Steve, disappointed that his idea had been shot down, quickly came up with another that I greatly approved of: if any members of Hydra happened to know my 'reset code' and tried to use it when I was within hearing distance, my earpiece would emit a high pitched whistle that would block out the words and allow me time to escape while also summoning the others to my location. I had unwillingly given the first of the nine words to Natasha, as she was the only other Russian on the team, with the warning that if she ever used it against me, I would not hesitate to shoot her. Her response was a grim smile. _'I know,' she had said. 'You helped train me.'_

Natasha now tossed a jacket and a teasing grin in my direction. "Suit up."

I batted it away, laughing, and doubled over when it hit a surprised Clint full in the face. I sobered up quickly when my brother came to stand in front of us, scowling in the general direction of the Hydra base we were about to attack.

"Alright." He tucked his thumbs into his belt and glanced over at me. It was an old habit, something he used to do all the time back when we fought Hydra together in the 40s. Back then, he wasn't used to being a leader. He was just Steve. And he'd always look to me for support. He didn't need to anymore, but… old habits die hard, I guess. I grinned and gave him a thumbs up. He returned the smile, nodded, and continued speaking. "This is one of the last, if not the final, Hydra base. With any luck, Loki's scepter will be here. And even if it's not, Strucker ought to be taken down for illegal human experimentation." He glanced at me warily, and I sighed. Loki's scepter hadn't done this to me, the Diviner had—but that didn't matter right now.

"Remind me again," I raised my hand a bit, catching everyone's attention. "Loki is bad, right?"

We had spent four months taking down Hydra's bases together—I learned quickly that the others had been doing this for about four months before I hopped on the bandwagon—but only in the last few weeks had the name 'Loki' come up in conversation. This was due in part to Thor's return: he had gone home to Asgard for a bit to clean up there. He was the one who told me stories of his brother, Loki, the god of mischief—he had failed to reply when I somewhat teasingly commented, "I'm Catholic," much to the others' amusement—from when they were kids. Child Loki seemed nice enough, but Thor declined to tell me any recent details about his brother, staring about five years before the present. None other others had been in the room, but from the dark looks I was getting from the others now, it was a safe bet that he was the enemy.

"He used the scepter to brainwash people," Steve replied with an uneasy glance in Clint's direction, and I stiffened. Clint had been brainwashed? No wonder he was never as angry with me as he should have been—he knew what I was feeling. He knew what it was like to be scraped out of your own head while whoever's in charge put something else in. "He's not a good guy."

Thor crossed his arms, glowering at the ground, but held his tongue as Steve finished laying out the plan. "Natasha, go with Clint to take out the left flank. Thor, take to the sky and light up as many of the bastards as you can." Behind his back, Natasha signed the word 'language' to Clint, who cracked a grin in response. "Stark, try and get inside the base and find the scepter. Katie, you're with me, we'll be taking on the right flank. Bruce, stay here unless its absolutely necessary for you to go green."

The team split, each rushing off to our assigned station. Steve's motorcycle took off, and I leapt on the back of it, folding my wings down. Within a minute of driving through the woods, Hydra opened fire.

"Steve!"

He swung his shield around, nearly knocking me off the bike, and attached it to the front of the motorcycle. Not a moment too soon, either—a second later, a burst of energy struck the shield. I belatedly thanked Howard for creating such a weapon—it really had come in handy.

 _"Target, take out that bunker,"_ Tony's voice crackled over the intercom before turning clear.

"Who?" I called back, moving into a crouch as Steve made to turn on a dime, a move that would launch me towards the bunker at top speed.

 _"Either that or Feathers, your call,"_ Tony replied shortly.

"I'm not going by either. Steve, now!"

My brother whipped to the side, throwing me off the bike. I went airborne and spread my wings before taking off towards the concrete bunker that was doing so much damage. Bruce, bless him, had finally created a serum to get rid of the Angel. I was able to keep my strength, thankfully, but was in no danger of losing my mind while in the midst of a mission.

The Hydra agents at the base were easy to take down—most had heard of me from their predecessors or fallen comrades and were in no hurry to take me on. The few who did were taken down easily.

"Bunker sec—"

 _"Shit!"_ Tony swore, and the sound of metal ricocheting off a wall echoed through the earpiece.

 _"Language!"_ my brother barked instinctively.

A sad smile pulled at my lips, and I took a deep breath to regain my composure. James always was the one to swear on our missions with the Howling Commandos—in the heat of the moment, I had no doubt that the brotherly chiding had slipped out of my brother. Why shouldn't it? We were fighting Hydra in the winter of Europe; on more than one occasion _today_ , I had almost called out for James or Dum-Dum for a hand.

 _"Jarvis, what's the view from upstairs?"_ I called, playing off Steve's mistake as though it were nothing. I took to the sky, swerving around energy beams and working my way towards my nearest teammate, who currently was Clint.

 _"_ _The central building is protected by some kind of energy shield. Strucker's technology is well beyond any other Hydra base we've taken,"_ the AI replied immediately.

Thor spoke now, and his voice was accompanied by the sound of his hammer smashing through brick and soldiers. _"Loki's scepter must be here. Strucker couldn't mount this defense without it. At long last."_

 _"_ _At long last is lasting a little long, boys,"_ Natasha piped up.

Clint was breathing heavily when I landed beside him, shooting a man who was about to catch Clint between his crosshairs. The archer nodded in thanks and returned the favor. "Yeah. I think we lost the element of surprise."

 _"Wait a second,"_ Tony interrupted, _"No one else is going to deal with the fact that Cap just said 'language?'"_

 _"I know."_ Steve paused for a moment, grunting, and then continued, his voice a near whisper. _"It just slipped out."_

"Clint, we've got to take down that bunker." I glared at the building in irritation from my spot behind a tree. The Hydra soldiers had wised up and now had snipers perched on the roof, along with the energy canon I knew would fry me if it got a good shot.

"On it." He stepped out from behind his tree and sent an exploding arrow in the direction of the bunker. I bowed my head as he stepped back, both of us waiting for the explosion that never came. We exchanged surprised looks as he took aim again.

A flash of blue knocked Clint off his feet, and as I spend my wings to take to the air, the same streak hit me from behind, sending me face first into the snow and knocking the air out of me. I rolled over in time to see a young man with blue eyes and silvery hair strutting by, smirking.

"You didn't see that coming?" he questioned cockily. A moment later, he was gone. Clint snapped to his feet, an arrow on the string—I whirled around in as the canon of the bunker moved by itself—a beam of energy hit Clint in the side, sending him to the ground.

I scrambled to my feet, turning around, trying to find the speedster, and stumbled when the boy in all his blue glory bumped into me, hitting my arm. One of my knives fell from my belt, landing blade first into the snow.

There wasn't time to go after him. "Clint!" I was at his side in a moment. "Shit," I whispered, staring in horror at the gaping hole that a few moments ago had been Clint's side.

 _"Language!"_ Tony barked. I replied with something worse, earning laughter from several of my teammates.

 _"We have an enhanced in the field,"_ Steve announced, sounding irritated—likely because the young man had attacked him as well. Or because the rest of the team was teasing him about his previous comment.

"Clint's been hit!" I yelled into my earpiece. "Does anyone copy?"

"I do." Natasha materialized beside me, ducking to avoid being shot at. "Someone want to deal with that bunker?" she growled. The Hulk tore through the building in response to her words. "Thank you." The assassin glanced up at me.

 _"Stark, we really need to get inside."_

Natasha gave me a little shove. "Go help your brother, I got this."

I nodded shakily, scooped up my fallen knife, and took off, heading towards my brother's last position. Steve, Tony, and Jarvis continued to speak back and forth as I circled the compound, taking out any soldiers I could find. Before long I spotted my brother's red, white, and blue uniform beside Thor's familiar armor. The two fought well together, keeping up a friendly dialogue as they fought. I was by now close enough that I could hear them without the speaker.

"It looks like they're lining up," Thor commented, whirling his hammer.

"Well, they're excited." Thor brought his hammer down on Steve's shield, and the resulting energy knocked out all the soldiers in a fifty foot radius.

Thor nodded solemnly to me as I landed and sunk several inches into the snow. "Find the scepter." He took off into the air, leaving Steve and I alone.

 _"And for gosh sakes, watch your language!"_ Tony chimed in, laughter in his voice.

Steve sighed in resignation, rolling his shoulders. "That's not going away any time soon." He turned to me, switching his earpiece off so the others couldn't hear us. I did the same. "You're hurt." He stepped forward and grasped my arm. I looked down, surprised, and frowned down at the deep cut that had sliced through my suit and deep into my arm.

"The speedster," I growled. "He bumped into me—he must have cut me." I pulled out my knife and eyed the blood with distaste. "Right."

"Go help Nat and the others get Clint onto the ship. I'll be along shortly." He turned his earpiece on, I did the same, and then we took off in our separate directions. I met the others on the Quinjet. Natasha was out calming the Hulk back down into Bruce, and Thor was helping to strap Clint into the side of the ship. He glanced up when he saw me.

"Katherine," he called, his booming voice catching the attention of anyone listening. "Barton wishes to speak with you." He left us alone, and I hurried to his side, perching on the bench beside him.

"Hey, Katie." Clint's face was ashen.

"Hey, Clint." I swallowed thickly. "I'm so sorry. I should have moved faster, I—"

"We talked 'bout this," he slurred. "Don't 'pologize, it wasn' your fault. 'sides, he's enhanced. Even you're not tha' fast." He glanced around. No one else was back. He reached up and turned his and my earpieces off. "James says hi," he murmured, grinning at the stunned look on my face. "Says he's almost ready."

"Are you still willing to do this?" I asked him, unable to keep the giddy smile from spreading across my face.

He nodded. "'course."

"Are you even _qualified_ to do this?" I clarified.

The archer chuckled and then groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'll make it a priority."

The others began to trickle in, effectively ending our conversation. Natasha took my spot beside Clint and I moved to sit by my brother. Bruce curled up in a chair, pulling on a pair of headphones. Opera music, for whatever reason, always calmed the Hulk down. Tony stored the scepter away and took his spot in the pilot's chair. He was pale and sweaty, almost sick looking, and he remained silent almost the entirely of the flight. The others settled in, either talking quietly or napping. Bruce, the resident doctor, called me over to take a look at my arm once he calmed down enough to do so.

"How'd this happen?" he asked, tying a tourniquet above the area. Turns out I'd been hit deeper than I thought—bandages weren't going to cut it; I needed stitches, though for now Bruce settled for cleaning the cut and wrapping it tightly to stop the bleeding.

"Enhanced in the field," I murmured, thinking back on the boy with the silver hair. "Young man, probably in his early twenties, unless his age was altered like mine. He's fast; a blue blur. He cut me with my own knife after taking Clint down."

"He say anything?" Bruce asked, swabbing the area with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.

I hissed in pain, trying and failing to jerk away, but nodded. "He did," I said through clenched teeth. "'You didn't see that coming?'" I quoted, doing my best to mimic his accent. The strangest thing was that I could've sworn I'd heard the accent before. It wasn't Russian or Romanian… what was it? Wanda. The girl I met over a year ago, the one who tried to read my mind. I couldn't remember much about her—I had been wiped days later, and not everything had come back, but I remembered meeting her.

"Cheeky," he commented dryly, finishing up. He leaned back, exhausted, and replaced his music, staring straight ahead with blank eyes.

"Hey," Natasha moved to sit in front of the doctor as few minutes later. "The lullaby worked better than ever," she smiled lightly, trying to comfort him.

"Just wasn't expecting the code green," he mumbled.

"If you hadn't been there, there would've been double the casualties," she said soothingly. She glance over at Clint worriedly. "My best friend would've been a treasured memory."

I chuckled softly.

Bruce's lips twitched, but he stared down at his feet. "You know, sometimes _exactly_ what I want to hear isn't _exactly_ what I want to hear."

Natasha's expression changed. "How long before you trust me?"

Bruce shook his head and glanced up at her. "It's not you I don't trust."

The assassin raised her voice and looked over at Thor, who was standing beside my brother on the other side of the plane, talking. "Thor, report on the Hulk?"

The demigod grinned, clasping one fist in his other palm. "The gates of hell are filled with the screams of his victims."

I snorted with laughter and covered my mouth, doing my best to change the sound to resemble a cough. Natasha, who obviously had not expected that reply, turned and glared at him in disbelief while Banner groaned in despair, his head dropping into his hands.

"Uh, but, not the screams of the dead, of course," Thor backtracked hurriedly, "No no, uh...wounded screams, mainly whimpering, a great deal of complaining and tales of sprained deltoids and, and uh... and gout." He turned, defeated, to my brother who had done a valiant job keeping himself from laughing at the man's distress. I had my eyes closed and my head in my arms, doing my best to choke down the laughter that wouldn't stop bubbling up at the thought of Thor's explanation.

Tony turned around in his chair. "Hey Banner, Dr. Cho's on her way in from Seoul, is it okay if she sets up in your lab?"

The Doctor nodded absently. "Uh, yeah, she knows her way around."

"Who is Dr. Cho?" I asked him, finally managing to regain my composure.

"Brilliant woman," he muttered, still hung up on Thor's comment. He didn't look pleased with how I had handled the situation, but he wasn't sore about it either. "She'll be able to fix Clint up in no time. You too," he added, glancing at my arm. "She'll probably stalking you for information on your wings, though."

"Information which I will be unable to disclose," I offered him a small smile as I rose to my feet. I shook out my wings, sighing when the feathers spread and then fell perfectly into place. All except one. I turned, irritated, and began preening, working to tweak the secondary feather back into position.

"Jarvis, take the wheel," Tony ordered, moving to join the rest of us in the back. "Feathers, is your brother really so against swearing?" he questioned, throwing an arm around my shoulders right as I finished fixing my wing.

"Call me Feathers again," I started threateningly. I really had walked into that one, though, since I had been preening in public.

Tony chuckled, shaking his head, and called out to the others, cutting me off: "Someone come up with a field name for Katie here."

"What, I can't call you Target?" Clint slurred.

I pointed the hilt of a knife threateningly in his direction. "Not unless you'd like to become one, old man."

He chuckled and murmured something to Natasha that I couldn't hear. The red-head nodded and looked up at me. _"Beskonechnost',"_ the Russian suggested in her native tongue.

"Infinity?" I translated easily, unsure. Did I really even need a nickname? I mean, did 'Katie' not inspire enough terror on the battlefield?

"How many languages does she know?" Tony asked, removing his arm. I ignored him.

"What of Griffon?" Thor suggested.

I glanced over at him in disbelief. He was the last person I would have expected to chime in with a potential name for me. "You too?"

He shrugged, a smile showing through his beard. "The creature is a mix of a lion and an eagle; you fight using both wings and claws," he gestured to my knives. I hummed noncommittally. He was right, and I had a feeling that if I didn't pick one soon, I'd be stuck with Feathers for the remainder of my time with the Avengers.

"We'll work on a name later," Steve interrupted, throwing his arm around my shoulders. "We're home."


	17. Chapter 17

_"_ _Clint Barton is recovering quickly,"_ Jarvis announced the next day.

"Thank you, Jarvis," I grinned, glancing up at the tablet propped against the edge of my bed.

 _"_ _What exactly are you drawing, Miss?"_ the AI asked curiously. I sometimes wondered whether Jarvis was a real person—indeed, he was kinder than many of the humans I had encountered.

"It's my fiancé," I told him softly, tracing one of the lines with my pencil, darkening it.

 _"_ _James Barnes."_

"Yes."

 _"_ _I was not aware that you were getting married."_

I sighed, glancing over with a smile. "He proposed to me in nineteen forty-four," I informed him. "A bit before your time."

 _"_ _Somehow I don't believe that is the full story,"_ Jarvis replied smartly. There was a pause, and then he said: _"If you don't want your brother to know you've seen your fiancé as recently as that drawing suggests, then you should put it away. He's walking down the hall."_

"Thank you." I flipped over to another drawing—a couple dancing in the rain—right as the door slid open, revealing Steve.

"You should be getting ready for dinner." Steve leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. I glanced up at him and shrugged before going back to the sketch book in front of me. I blinked down at the familiar faces in the drawing before glancing up at my brother once more.

"Later." I dropped the blue pencil and picked up a black one. Tony had insisted on renaming the colors of all the pencils and had chosen this one to be… "Void of existential anguish black," I read aloud with a snort. "Very creative."

"What?" Steve chuckled and moved to sit on the edge of my bed. He had been gone the previous day, off to see Peggy who, I understood, was not doing incredibly well. I had been unable to go see her; I planned to do so sometime in the next week.

Because of the many negative memories I had with my old room, as well as other _technical_ difficulties, Tony had redesigned the tower and sent all the bedrooms to the three connected floors, something that was considerably helpful whenever someone suffered from a PTSD-induced nightmare. Guest rooms were on the floor above. My new room was in-between Steve's and Natasha's and across from, when he was here, Clint's.

"Let me see." Steve plucked a gray one from the box and frowned at it. "Moral ambiguity gray." He replaced it with a white one. "Katie's wings white." A red one. "Pepper's hair red." He nodded sarcastically at the pencil. "Very creative."

I plucked a blue one from the pile and grinned. "Cap's eyes blue."

Steve laughed loudly, a smile stretching across his face.

I searched through the box and plucked out a dual-color one. "Here, read this one."

My brother accepted the gold and red pencil, and his eyebrows arched in amusement. "I do what I want, I'm Iron Man," he read aloud. This title wrapped all around the pencil in tiny golden letters.

This continued for several minutes: turned out that each team member had a different color pencil—mine was a color that looked suspiciously identical to 'Moral ambiguity gray.'

"What do we do about the enhanced?" I asked softly, staring down at my 'moral ambiguity gray' pencil. I had flat out refused to listen to any personal details about the two—names, history, anything—because I knew that if I did, I wouldn't be able to do what needed to be done. All I would see was myself.

"I guess we try to get through to them,"Steve sighed. "They're just kids. I hope they can still be saved."

"And if they can't?" I asked softly, staring down at the rough sketch of my fiancé and I.

"Come upstairs, Katie," Steve said instead, catching my hand and giving it a gentle tug. He nodded towards my dress, which I had put on a few hours ago for the sole purpose of feeling like a princess, not because I was planning on going out in public. It was cream-colored, and the top layer was covered in flowery lace; it went a little past my knees and had straps that held it onto my shoulders. The back was cut low enough to allow my wings freedom to move, and the top portion cut off just above the edge of my ribs, making the skirt flow out like a ballgown's might. If I ever got married—and Lord willing I would, I was wearing this dress as my wedding gown. "C'mon. Even Tony and Bruce are breaking away from their work for dinner."

I groaned but couldn't resist my brother's puppy dog eyes. I needed a distraction. "Fine." I let him pull me to my feet. Steve stopped me in the doorway and stooped to pick up something right outside my doorway.

"Happy birthday." It was a bouquet of pink evening primroses, my favorite flower, the one James always gave me on our walks—and it was my birthday?

"What?" I accepted the vase, blinking. What was the date, again?

He smiled sadly. I knew what he was thinking, why he didn't say my age. Because while he knew my biological age, he didn't know how old I really was—mentally, I mean. I had been doing some research with Bruce—apparently I had spent less time out of cryo-freeeze than I originally thought. And since my time spent in the woods was essentially limbo, since I didn't do or learn anything… I was basically in my early twenties. Or thirties. Or…

"This is the first birthday we've been together for since nineteen forty-four," I tried and failed to smile. I was happy to finally be with my brother, but so much had changed. It had been seventy years since we did something so common as celebrate a birthday together—and the last few years, his birthdays had been spent worrying about me, seeing as how Hydra had kidnapped me both times.

"Don't do that to yourself," he breathed. "C'mon." He pulled a curl over my shoulder and gave it a light tug.

I washed my face and then followed Steve upstairs. The others had already gathered in the huge living room, ready to celebrate. And they did—Steve had made a cake with Natasha's help, and Clint's kids had drawn me several pictures and mailed them to me. In the last few months, I'd been to see them several times—Clint had managed to have them understand that _I_ had not attacked them, that it was someone who looked like me. Since then, they had very much enjoyed seeing me. I hadn't seen Laura in about three months, though.

"So… has anyone thought of a name for Katie yet?" Tony called, looking around the room. He had a glass of scotch in his hand, and he spun it lazily as he glanced around at the others, all of whom were eating cake instead of drinking alcohol.

Steve cleared his throat. "I did."

All eyes turned to him. I was very surprised—I hadn't expected that he would go through the trouble of finding a nickname for me, not when Katie already was a nickname he had given me.

"Valkyrie," he stated, swallowing hard. "Thor told me about them—women who work to defend the worthy and, when they fall, take them to Valhalla. They're great warriors; revered by all."

I blinked, too stunned to say anything. The others all nodded, sharing their opinions, but Steve leaned forward so only I could hear his next words. "They're _good,_ " he breathed. "Like you."

I was touched. "Steve, I—" I swallowed thickly, but nodded, smiling. "Thank you."

"Walk with me?" he offered me a hand up, which I accepted. We ended up walking around on the balcony that wrapped around the building. Tony—well, Pepper, really—had refurbished the whole thing into a garden. The only negative was that tonight it was freezing, and the cold wind carried with it a hint of snow. I wrapped my wings around my shoulders, smiling at my older brother.

"It's beautiful tonight." It was a cloudless night, so the stars were all out, and we were high enough that the light pollution didn't obscure all of them from view.

"I wanted to apologize," Steve replied, almost cutting me off. I looked over at him, confused, as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "For how I've been acting these last few months. The last two years, almost, really. I have excuses, but they're just that, they don't… mean anything."

"Steve, I know why you've been acting… not like yourself," I shrugged. "After everything: you waking up and finding out about SHIELD's involvement with the Tesseract, New York—" I gestured to the surrounding city, "Me showing up and you having no idea who I was—" I still needed to figure out how that was possible— "Rescuing me, finding James, getting rid of Hydra… _Peggy_ … it's a lot to deal with."

A pained look crossed my brother's face, and he rubbed his hand through his cropped hair. "That doesn't excuse my actions. I should have remembered you. I should have believed you: about SHIELD and Hydra. I shouldn't have stayed angry with you for so long."

"Why didn't you ask me to come back?" I asked him softly, my voice cracking. That's what I wanted to know—if he had just asked me to come home from SHIELD, I would have. But he didn't. "All that time, I would've come back, but…"

"I thought you needed time to yourself," Steve shook his head. "Maybe I was wrong. I just want to make sure you're safe, Katie. I did that the only way I knew how… guess it wasn't the right way."

"Next time don't send me away and give me the cold shoulder," I bumped his arm. "Just talk to me. I forgive you, Steve."

"And I love you, Katie." He hugged me tightly and led me back inside where the others were waiting.

"The Valkyrie returns!" Tony crowed, standing and then swaying on his feet. The bottle of scotch beside him was nearly empty. Thor, who I knew could not get drunk off of our alcohol, was watching him in amusement.

"I'll get him," Bruce grunted as he rose to his feet. "I'll treat him for the alcohol, then get back to work on Loki's scepter."

"We've got that celebration tomorrow," Natasha added lazily, crossing one leg over the other. She was wearing jeans and a gray sweater, dressed far more casually than I was. "Lots of people coming over, remember?"

"Right." I nodded, sighing through my nose. Lots of people to talk to—in my case, avoid—and, if Sam showed up, lie to. I didn't want to have to lie, but… to keep James safe, I'd do anything.

Sam did, in fact, make an appearance at the party the next night. I did my best to avoid him, but near the end of the night, I lost track of him and ended up running into him.

"What's going on with you?" Sam stopped me, catching my arm as I tried to walk past him. He had spent the last several months looking for James. I already knew James was in hiding, I was just waiting for the signal to meet him. If Sam were to find out that I had been keeping in contact with him…

"What do you mean?" I shrugged my arm out of his grip and crossed my arms over my chest. The party was dying down, but people were still speaking and milling around, and I didn't want anyone overhearing our conversation.

"After Barnes threatened you, after you were reset…" I stiffened at the mention of my last meeting with Ward, but Sam continued anyway. "You've been different."

"I'm trying something new," I breathed, looking out over the living room. Most of the guests had left, and my team was scattered around the room. Bruce and Natasha were speaking softly at the bar, Natasha looking like she'd stepped out of the 40s with her short, curled hair and black skirt. A few security guards was escorting an older man—he looked familiar, had I seen him before?—past me. He seemed to be having some trouble keeping his feet, and he kept muttering, "Excelsior," for some reason. I didn't know where Tony or Clint were, but Steve was teaching Thor how to play pool.

"And what's that?" Sam asked, following my gaze.

"Being a hero."

Sam was silent for a few minutes, processing my words. "You heard from Barnes?" Sam finally asked, leaning forward and crossing his arms over the railing.

I shook my head, unconsciously twisting my engagement ring around my finger. "No. Have you found anything on him?"

Sam sighed heavily. "Nothing." He stood up, grunting, and gave me a tired smile. "I'd best head out. I'll see you soon, Katie."

"Bye Sam."

By now, all the guests had left. I made my way upstairs to the living room, which overlooked the large room the party had been held in. Much of the team already had gathered there, lounging around on the couches with beer and glasses of wine or scotch. The majority of the team was either drunk or at least buzzed, with the exception of my brother and I, who were incapable of reaching such a state. Even Thor seemed slightly effected, probably because of whatever was in the flask he had been carrying at his side all night.

" _Why_ exactly is your hammer on the coffee table?" I asked, moving to sit beside Natasha on one of the couches.

"Nice dress." She gestured to the blue, vintage dress I was wearing. Steve glanced over as well, offering me a small smile. He had no way of knowing this, but this dress was the same one I had always worn in my dreams when James didn't come home, the one that in real life had once been my favorite. Steve had remembered how much I loved this dress and had bought it for me… I had worn it for him, despite the many nightmares I remembered whenever I looked down at it.

"Because no one has been able to move it," Thor smiled cheekily, lifting a glass of alcohol in my direction as a toast.

"But it's a trick!" Clint called, spinning a pair of drumsticks in his hand. From what I could overhear earlier, he had ditched the party and gone to play the drums instead. He was quite good, if the noise from downstairs had been any indication of his skill.

Thor smiled knowingly and shook his head. "Oh, no. It's much more than that."

Clint laughed, shaking his head. "Uh, 'Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power!'" he mocked. "Whatever man! It's a trick," he called amidst gales of laughter from the others.

The demigod gestured towards his weapon of choice. "Well please, be my guest."

The noise died down as Thor's words caught the majority of the team's interest. Tony shook his head in disbelief. "Come on."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Thor shrugged. "Yeah!"

"Oh, this is gonna be beautiful," Rhodes chuckled.

"Oh, dear," I murmured, taking a sip of water. I had never found alcohol appealing, since it had no effect on me. Might as well drink something that benefitted me.

"Clint, you've had a tough week, we won't hold it against you if you can't get it up," Tony called.

The others laughed in response.

Clint shook his head with a smile. I knew he had worked in the circus once, that he believed this to be a trick. "You know I've seen this before, right?" He grabbed the handle and began to pull, but nothing happened. The hammer didn't budge. I frowned down at it. What was the point of this? Clint was a good man—everyone here was a _good person_ —and this hammer, this inanimate object, was telling them that they were not 'worthy.' Clint shook his head and looked over at Thor, laughing and shaking his head good-naturedly. "And I still don't know how you do it."

"Smell the silent judgment?" Tony called.

"Please, Stark, by all means," Clint spread his arms, offering the hammer to the billionaire, who stood up in response.

This caught everyone's attention. Even Natasha, who had until this point been chatting quietly with Bruce on the side, turned to watch.

"Never one to shrink from an honest challenge," Tony called, smirking down at the hammer. He tucked his hand into the strap and tightened his grip on the hammer. "It's physics. Right, so, if I lift it, I...I then rule Asgard?"

"Yes, of course," Thor replied absently, glancing around.

"I will be re-instituting Prima Nocta," Tony announced. When he caught the murderous glare I sent his way, he quickly looked down once more, a worried expression on his face. He planted one foot on the table and struggled to lift the hammer, grunting, but failed. He frowned for a moment and then glanced around. "I'll be right back."

"Do you think he'll lift it?" I asked Nat softly.

She smirked in response and took a sip of her drink. Steve, I could see, was struggling to contain his laughter. He gestured towards the hammer, and I shook my head. Not now. If I did try and lift it… it wouldn't be to be shown up by Stark.

The man in question reemerged several moments later, now wearing the armored arm of one of his suits. When this did not work to lift the hammer, he enlisted Rhodes as well, who also was using part of his suit. But now, they both were using the rockets to try and fly the thing off the ground, but to no avail. I had a feeling that if it were a sentient being, the hammer would be laughing.

"Are we even pulling?" Rhodes asked in disbelief.

Tony responded quickly, defensive. "Are you on my team?"

"Just represent! Pull!"

"Alright, let's go!"

Bruce also failed, and it seemed for a moment that he was trying to transform into the Hulk with a loud roar, but he, thankfully, did not. He trailed off near the end, his roar turning into a questioning squeak as he looked around at all the amused and concerned faces of his teammates.

Steve got up next.

"Let's go, Steve, no pressure." My brother stepped up to the plate amidst the somewhat mocking cheers from Tony's corner. "Come on, Cap."

He wrapped both hands around it and pulled—and it moved. Nothing drastic, but enough that the smug look on Thor's face vanished for a moment as he stared in complete disbelief at Steve. My brother released the hammer, staring down at it curiously, but did not attempt to lift it again. Thor's betrayed expression was gone in a second as the demigod laughed in relief, silently toasting my brother. I didn't even know if Steve noticed it had moved—the others certainly hadn't—but if he had, he said nothing.

"Nothing," Thor smiled, though his grin was now somewhat forced.

Bruce gestured towards the hammer. "Widow?"

"Oh, no no. That's not a question I need answered," Natasha politely declined, taking a small sip of beer.

"Valkyrie?" Thor, to my surprise, was the one who offered. He seemed genuine, but at the moment, I didn't quite feel up to the task of being embarrassed in front of the team.

"All deference to the man who wouldn't be king, but it's rigged," Tony called, saving me from having to answer.

"You bet your ass," Clint muttered, clapping Tony on the shoulder. By now, about half the team was on their feet, milling around the couches.

Maria Hill looked over the rim of her glass, smirking. "Steve, he said a bad language word."

Steve sighed and shook his head good-naturedly, glaring up at Tony. "Did you tell everyone about that?"

"The handle's imprinted, right? Like a security code. 'Whosoever is carrying Thor's fingerprints' is, I think, the literal translation?" Tony inquired, ignoring my brother.

Thor shrugged and rose to his feet. "Yes, well that's, uh, that's a very, very interesting theory. I have a simpler one." He lifted the hammer and flipped it as easily as if it weighed nothing, catching it by the handle. "You're all not worthy."

The chorus of disagreement was interrupted by a loud screech that tore through my head life a knife. I sucked in a breath and covered my ears, trying to block out the noise. When I finally looked up, it was to see one of Tony's dismembered robots making its way through the dark doorway. It was twisted, evil, and oil dripped from it like blood. "Worthy…" the thing of nightmares rasped, drawing out the word for as long as it could. I rose to my feet, fear welling up in me, and the others joined me. Steve put himself between the thing and I. "No... How could you be worthy? You're all killers."

"Stark," Steve said sharply, not taking his eyes off the robot.

"Tony?" I breathed. "What the hell is that?"

"I'm sorry, I was asleep," the thing said, waving its arm around. "Or...I was a dream?"

"Jarvis," Tony breathed, tapping his tablet. "Reboot, Legionnaire, we got a buggy suit."

The demonic thing shuddered, its grinning mouth gaping horribly. "There was a terrible noise...and I was tangled in... in...strings. I had to kill the other guy," it stated, sounding pleased. "He was a good guy."

Steve's right hand found my wrist and gripped it tight, providing both of us with stability. "You killed someone?"

"Wouldn't have been my first call," it announced. "But, down in the real world we're faced with ugly choices."

Thor grasped his hammer tightly. "Who sent you?"

"'I see a suit of armor around the world'," Tony's recorded voice filled the room.

Bruce's eyes widened, and the color drained from his face. His voice was shaky and weak when he finally spoke. "Ultron!"

"Tony, Bruce—" I swallowed hard. "What did you do?"

The robot staggered forward in a mocking bow. "In the flesh. Or, no, not yet. Not this...chrysalis. But I'm ready. I'm on a mission."

"What mission?" Natasha asked.

"Peace in our time."

Without warning, Tony's Iron Legion bots burst through the wall, spraying plaster and glass across the room. Steve grabbed my waist and pulled me closer to him as he kicked up a table to act as a shield. A second later, the table was blasted backward, knocking my brother and I off the balcony. Steve twisted so that he would hit the ground first, providing a cushion I wouldn't have needed had he remembered that I could fly.

I landed on his chest, and was unable to move because of his death-grip on my waist. "Steve!"

"I'm alright," he grunted, releasing me and rolling over to prop himself up with an elbow. "You're lighter than you used to be."

I scrambled to my feet, keeping a strong grip on his hand. "Don't do that!"

"Katie, get down!" Steve shoved me out of the way as a bot flew at him, taking him down. He didn't have his shield and was reduced to hand to hand combat with the bot that had lasers and missiles embedded within its system.

Thor flew by me, blasted backwards by one of the robots, and his hammer fell to the ground beside me as he smashed through a table. To my left another robot was speeding towards an already occupied Steve, a long, jagged piece of metal in its grip.

 _I'm not losing anyone else._

Without thinking, I lunged for the hammer, grasped the leather bound handle in both hands, and almost toppled to the side as _it came off the ground._ A feeling of intense strength filled my chest, along with a tingling as though I'd been struck by lightning, making me feel light, free, strong—I reared back and threw the hammer as hard as I could, and it sailed through the air before coming into contact with the robot's chest, destroying it.

"Oh," I breathed. I stood in complete shock as the feeling died away, leaving an odd mixture of elation and sorrow. The hammer returned to Thor's hand, and the rightful owner used it well, taking out as many robots as he could. My brother retrieved his shield too, and after a moment I joined the fight, using one of Maria's discarded guns. The fight was over within minutes, but everyone had been beaten up.

"Well that was dramatic," 'Ultron' announced when we all regrouped once more. "I'm sorry, I know you mean well. You just didn't think it through. You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change. How is humanity saved if it's not allowed to…evolve?" He picked up the flickering remains of one of the destroyed Iron Legions. "With these? These _puppets_?" It practically spat the word. "There's only one path to peace: The Avengers' extinction."

Thor threw his hammer at Ultron and smashed him to pieces. I watched the hammer as it returned to Thor's hand. Would it return to mine, if I called it? No one except possibly Thor seemed to have noticed that I had wielded it. I clenched my fist, shaking my head.

Before the light within Ultron died out, as it faded, it began to sing, screeching out the words of a song—a song that once belonged in a film that gave me my name so long ago. "I had strings, but now I'm free."

 _There are no strings on me._


	18. Chapter 18

"Any idea where Thor went?" I asked Natasha quietly, looking on as the others scrambled to figure out what was happening.

She shook her head and sighed irritably, crossing her arms over her gray hoodie. She looked looked much more in place now; the hoodie and jeans did more to define her than the dress did, as though the dress was nothing but a costume. I wondered if I was the same, whether the pretty blue dress was just a mask I wore that covered up the assassin I really was. I had since changed into jeans and a sweater, feeling far more at home in the loose clothing than I had in the dress. "He went to see if he could find the Legionnaire that took Loki's scepter," she murmured.

"All our work is gone. Ultron cleared out, used the internet as an escape hatch," Bruce growled, pacing angrily around the lab. I moved back and perched on one of the decks, swinging my leg back and forth as I watched everything play out. Amazing how quickly everything could go to hell.

"Ultron," my brother repeated quietly, looking absolutely _done._ He leaned over one of the tables, his head down, taking deep breaths.

Natasha nodded. "He's been in everything. Files, surveillance… Probably knows more about us than we know about each other."

I glanced over at Clint, whose expression had darkened. Because of my—the Angel's—attack on his home, the Bartons had been forced to relocate. They had moved to another farm in another country about six months ago, and Clint had worked very hard to make the house as much like the last as humanly possible. But if Ultron knew about Clint's family…

The others were on a different page entirely. "Nuclear codes," Maria paled.

"Nuclear codes," Rhodes repeated, nodding in grim agreement. "Look, we need to make some calls, assuming we still can."

Natasha scoffed. "Nukes? He said he wanted _us_ dead."

Steve shook his head. "He didn't say dead. He said extinct."

I groaned slightly. "Thanks for that reminder," I muttered. Steve shot a glance in my direction but said nothing.

Clint spoke up. "He also said he killed somebody."

"But there wasn't anyone else in the building," Maria shook her head.

Tony reentered, looking like he had aged a hundred years in the course of a few minutes. "Yes there was." He tapped the screen of his tablet, and a golden, three-dimensional image of… something… appeared in the center of the room. I briefly recalled seeing the same image on a screen in the Quinjet, and again on the tablet in my room—

"What is that?" I asked softly, sliding off the counter to get a closer look at the golden hologram that was crumbling before my eyes.

"Jarvis." Tony actually sounded choked up, and rage burned in his eyes as he stared at the program I knew had been one of his best friends. The simulation was falling apart, and bits and pieces fell off and disappeared as I watched.

Bruce ran a hand through his hair. "This is insane."

Steve shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "Jarvis was the first line of defense. He would've shut Ultron down, it makes sense."

Bruce disagreed. "No, Ultron could've assimilated Jarvis. This isn't strategy, this is…rage." He looked distinctly uncomfortable, but sure of himself. Of everyone here, besides myself, he was the one who understood rage best.

Thor appeared in the room and crossed it, heading straight towards Tony. Without warning, the demigod slammed into the smaller man and lifted him up by the throat.

"Well it's going around," Clint muttered, not looking all that worried. The others scrambled to their feet, wanting to help but unsure of how to proceed.

Tony grasped Thor's forearm with both hands, gasping for breath as his face turned dark red. "Come on. Use your words, buddy."

The demigod was practically growling at the man before him. "I have more than enough words to describe you, Stark."

Steve intervened, his sharp voice cutting through Thor's anger. "Thor! The Legionnaire."

Thor released Tony and turned to face my brother instead, though he continued to shoot dirty looks towards the smaller man as he did so.

"The trail went cold about a hundred miles out but it's headed north, and it has the scepter. Now we have to retrieve it, _again_ ," he practically shouted, looking as though he were about to pick Tony up and hurl him through a window.

"The genie's out of that bottle. Clear and present is Ultron," Natasha pointed out softly.

Doctor Cho shook her head, bewildered. "I don't understand. You built this program." She turned and looked at each of us in turn, searching for an answer. "Why is it trying to kill us?"

At this, Tony began to laugh. I turned towards him, shocked, and the others did as well. A horrible thought occurred to me—what if he found James? Or the words used to reset my mind? So many things could go wrong… Suddenly I was very anxious to find Ultron as well. Bruce was shaking his head at Tony, trying to discreetly shut him up.

Thor lifted his hammer threateningly, a grim smile playing on his lips. That was perhaps the most frightening kind of anger, when the person was smiling and laughing. "You think this is funny?"

Stark tried to calm himself, still chuckling. "No. It's probably not, right? Is this very terrible? Is it so...is it so...it is. It's _so_ terrible."

"Tony," I snapped, my brow furrowing. A glance down at the counter revealed that I had, in my anxiety, crushed handprints into the metal. I clasped my hands in my lap instead, shifting my weight to cover up the evidence of my loss of control.

"This could've been avoided if you hadn't played with something you don't understand," Thor bellowed.

Tony sobered quickly, angry now. "No, I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_. It _is_ funny. It's a _hoot_ that you don't get why we need this."

Bruce was still shaking his head, glancing skittishly around the room. " _Tony_ , maybe this might not be the time to—"

Tony turned on him quickly. "Really?! That's it? You just roll over, show your belly, _every_ time somebody snarls."

"Only when I've created a murder bot," he bit back.

Tony obviously was not going to budge from his position—he fully believed that he had done nothing wrong. "We didn't. We weren't even _close_. Were we close to an interface?"

Bruce pursed his lips in a tight, exasperated smile and shrugged, nodding. Tony opened his mouth to retort, but Steve cut him off. "Well, you did something right. And you did it right here. The Avengers were supposed to be _different_ than SHIELD."

Tony looked around for help. "Anybody remember when I carried a nuke through a wormhole?"

Rhodes shook his head. "No, it's never come up."

"Saved New York?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "Never heard that."

Stark sighed angrily, pacing around the room while the rest of us looked on. "Recall that? A hostile alien army came charging through a hole in space. We're standing three hundred feet below it. We're the Avengers. We can bust arms dealers all the live long day, but, that up there?" He pointed towards the ceiling. "That's... that's the end game. How were you guys planning on beating that?"

It was Steve who spoke. "Together."

The younger Stark studied my brother, his brow furrowing. "We'll lose."

Steve shook his head, no longer angry, and held his gaze. "Then we'll do that together, too." Tony stared at Steve for a moment before looking away. "Thor's right: Ultron's calling us out. And I'd like to find him before he's ready for us. The world's a big place. Let's start making it smaller."

 **:::::**

"You need to stay here."

"Like hell I do," I snapped, tugging on my gloves as I followed my brother around the tower. My team was suiting up, ready to go take down Ultron, and Steve was choosing now to ask me to sit this one out.

From somewhere several floors away came Tony's voice. "Language!"

I was _this_ close to calling Thor down here and having him toss Stark off the top of the tower. "You're fighting enhanced people," I pressed on, doing my best to ignore Tony. I caught Steve's arm. " _Like me._ Who better to fight them than another enhanced?"

"By that logic, most of the team is enhanced," Steve retorted.

"You, Bruce, and I," I counted, frowning. "And last I checked, Bruce was staying on the Quinjet. Am I forgetting someone?"

Steve shook his head and started walking again. "You're staying here."

"We talked about this!" I chased him down, flying up to the balcony and cutting off his escape. "You can't protect me forever, I'm not a child!"

 _"_ _I know!"_ Steve took a deep breath to calm down. "I know. But you haven't even been _willing_ to see anything on these kids because you want to keep your head in the game." He tapped my forehead lightly. "What happens when we run into them in Wakanda? You get distracted, you get trapped inside your own head, and I won't be there to protect you."

"The Angel doesn't control me anymore, Steve," I frowned at him warily, silently warning him not to breach that particular topic with me. I could see where he was going, why he was worried—it wasn't as if I hadn't had any lapses in judgement in the past—but I wasn't budging. "I'm not getting trapped inside my head."

"You will if someone else traps you there."

I closed me eyes, shaking my head. "What are you talking about?"

"One of the kids can manipulate minds. Get inside your head." Steve lifted his hands and then let them fall to his sides, discouraged. "That's why I don't want you to come."

"You can't stop me, Stevie," I whispered, reaching over and grasping his hand. "If you try and leave me, I'll fly there myself. I'm stronger than them. I've had decades to train. To _fight_. If I can beat the Angel, I can beat these kids."

"But you _couldn't_ beat the Angel. You couldn't defeat the boy. You can't…" Steve grasped my shoulders gently, a frightened look on his face. "Katie. I can't let you do this. I can't lose anyone else."

"You're not going to lose me. But I'm not staying here." I reached up and touched his shoulder, an ominous feeling rising in my gut. The last time someone tried to keep me from going on a mission… "I'm with you till the end of the line," I whispered. "Remember?"

Steve's expression changed, and for a moment his eyes turned glassy before he blinked the wetness away. He nodded, and he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing briefly as he glanced away. "I remember," he whispered. He offered me a weak smile. "Suit up."

 **:::::::**

"You know what to do?" Clint asked softly, tapping me with the edge of his bow as we crept inside, keeping to the shadows.

"Draw out Speedy, avoid Mind-games," I murmured, sending him a quick grin. "And don't get shot."

"Yeah, that last bit's important," he grunted, scuttling to another shadow. Sometimes I forgot how old Clint's body was compared to mine: even after Bruce managed to get my body on the right track—aging normally, that it—I still had yet to feel the negative effects of old age. It seemed that Clint was beginning to feel them, though.

"Sore, old man?" I teased.

The next rap I received from his bow was less friendly. We split up right after, and I dropped down to a lower level as he climbed higher up into the building. _"Wait until you're my age."_

"I'm twice your age," I reminded him wryly, ducking down behind a stack of enormous missile.

I heard him sigh through the comms system. _"Let's not mention that again. Just pretend to be a teenager: it makes your sarcasm seem less…"_

Steve cut him off while he was searching for the right word, his voice as clear through the monitors as if he were standing at my shoulder. _"Both of you, be quiet. They're right upstairs."_

By now I could hear Ultron speaking. He sounded regretful at first, and then angry. "…going to be okay. I'm sorry, it's just I don't understand. Don't compare me with Stark!"

I jumped as the sound of something falling down stairs echoed through the metal building. For the first time I saw Ultron, and I gasped. He was _huge_ —far larger and more menacing than he had been the last time we saw him.

"He's gotten an upgrade," I whispered. "Anyone copy?"

Several voices answered, all grim and resigned. _"We copy."_

"It's a thing with me. Stark is—he's a sickness!"

"Ahh, Junior," Tony spoke up. I glanced up; he was directly above me, standing opposite Ultron and the two enhanced. "You're gonna break your old man's heart."

"If I have to," Ultron replied calmly.

"We don't have to break anything," Thor countered darkly.

"Clearly you've never made an omelet."

Tony huffed in frustration, turning to face my brother. "He beat me by one second."

The Speedster stepped forward, his head cocked as he watched the three Avengers with pale, angry eyes. "Ah, this is funny, Mr. Stark. It's what, comfortable? Like old times?" He gestured to the missiles on the floor below him; the missiles I was currently trying to get out from behind.

"This was never my life," Tony murmured. I crossed to the stairs and started climbing, wincing at the trail of blood that coated them. Never had I been so thankful for weighing so little. My boots made no sound on the stairs, and my weight kept them from creaking.

"You two can still walk away from this," Steve tried to reason with the kids. At the moment, I had only seen the speedster, but it was the other who spoke next.

"Oh, we will."

I knew that voice. I peeked out from over the floor—the group was only a few yards away, their backs to me. There were the two enhanced—a boy and a girl.

I pressed my hand over my radio. "Steve—" I _knew_ that girl. How?

Steve tried again, not glancing at me. "I know you've suffered—"

Ultron cut him off, and his words made me stiffen in anger to the point that my feathers began to rise on their own, enlarging my appearance. I ducked down again, silently cursing. The last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself. "Uuughh! Captain America. God's righteous man; pretending you could live without a war. I can't physically throw up in my mouth, but…"

"If you believe in peace, then let us keep it," Thor growled.

"I'm in position," I breathed, tightening my brass-knuckled gloves. My hands were shaking. I _knew_ that girl. She and I spoke once, when I was a prisoner of Hydra. I couldn't remember what was said, but… "Does anyone copy?"

"I think you're confusing peace with quiet," Ultron retorted.

 _"_ _Copy that,"_ Natasha breathed. I caught a glimpse of the redhead several stories up and nodded, letting out the breath I was holding. I could do this. I couldn't let this distract me.

"Yuh-huh," Tony replied absently. "What's the Vibranium for?"

"I'm glad you asked that, because I wanted to take this time to explain my evil plan."

The Iron Legions attacked them an instant later, shooting off to fight Tony, Steve, and Thor. Without waiting, Tony attacked Ultron. The girl disappeared, but the boy remained, unmoving, watching the fight with a relaxed stance. I didn't think he had gone anywhere—Or had he? He could easily have carried the girl out of the way and then returned. And if he was waiting for me… hadn't Tony said that Ultron had made his way into the internet? Did that mean that he could listen in on our conversations?

 _"_ _Valkyrie!"_

No time to question orders now. "On it!" I leapt forward and managed to land a kick in the center of the speedster's back. He stumbled forward and turned to face me, baffled. His expression changed to glee when he saw me.

"Ah, it's you," he stated, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. He seemed genuinely pleased at the thought of being able to fight me. The realization made me sick. "Back for more?"

I sighed irritably, tilting my head as I shook out my arms and hands. "Apparently."

He appeared directly in front of me in a flash of blue, smirking down at me. He was several inches taller than I was. "Tell you what," he smiled patronizingly. He took a step back, spreading his arms. "I'll let you hit me."

I blinked. "What? Why?" It was bizarre to me that while there was a battle going on, this boy and I were having a normal conversation. Also, it was absurd that he was _teasing_ me, taunting me. Did he not know who I was?

"Because you're a little girl," he mock pouted, a smile still playing on his lips. "It's not fair for you to be here."

"I don't even know your name." I made to hit him, and he vanished, appearing a few yards away.

"We're having a conversation," he frowned. He held out a hand. "Pietro," he replied smoothly, reappearing in front of me. "Now, it's only fair to give me yours?"

I took it warily, shaking it once before letting go. "Katie."

I lashed out and struck him in the center of the chest with the heel of my palm, hoping to knock the breath out of him and take him out of the game without seriously hurting him. I knew if I tried to go for his head, he'd get out of the way, and I didn't want to kill him by striking him with my combined strength and brass knuckles. He staggered backwards, stunned, and I followed, praying he stayed down. No such luck. He disappeared, and a moment later, my arms were pinned behind my back.

"You're stronger than you look, Angel," he breathed.

I snarled, yanking my arms from his grip as anger and fear twisted my stomach into knots. I knew he had no idea what the name meant to me—he likely chose the name because of my wings—but the sound on his tongue made me growl, twisting around in his grip. Even though the Angel was no longer present, the name still called forth unpleasant memories, ones I did not want to remember. And this _boy_ did not have the right to call me by that name. "Don't call me that!" I whirled around, but he was gone.

"Touchy," he replied from behind me. He kicked me in the back—such a blow to a normal human would have sent them sprawling, but all it did was send me forward a couple feet. "Stronger than you look," he added, sounding almost admiring. "Are you like us, Katie?"

"I'm nothing like you." I swung around, but he caught my wrist. "Is that girl your sister?" I asked, crying out when his next punch nailed me in the jaw as he swept my feet out from under me. I landed my wrist, and pain crackled up my arm. The young man's playful expression changed, turning guarded. So the answer was yes, then. "You let them experiment on her," I growled, climbing to my feet. I moved to hit him, and he dodged again, this time moving to pin me against the railing, twisting my arm behind my back.

Bruce, obviously alerted by the sound of battle, spoke up, worried. _"Guys, is this a Code Green?"_

I was too angry to respond. Instead I threw the young man off my, whirling around. "You should have protected her, not given her up to be _tortured!"_

The young man lashed out again, hitting me in the gut below my breastplate. I fell back, gasping, and he pinned me to the floor, his knee on my stomach. "Don't tell me what I should have done," the Speedster growled, all traces of a smile gone. He vanished, off to attack someone else. I staggered to my feet, my whole body aching, and watched as the boy crashed into the wall, Thor's hammer beside him. So he tried to pick it up, did he?

I leaned against the wall, swearing under my breath as my knee buckled. It hurt—not badly enough to send me to the bench, but enough that I needed to breathe a minute. A few moments later, Steve had brought the Speedster down. _"Stay down, kid. Thor! Status?"_

It was a few moments before Thor spoke again. _"The girl tried to warp my mind. Take special care, I doubt a human could keep her at bay. Fortunately, I am mighty…"_

His voice cut off suddenly, and he didn't speak again. "Thor?" I swung around, batting one of the Legionnaires aside with my wing and taking its head off. "Thor, do you copy?" He didn't respond, and I swallowed hard. "Steve!" Nothing. My voice broke. "Clint!"

 _"_ _I'm here."_

I had never been so relieved to hear another person's voice before. "What's going on?"

 _"_ _Get out of here. The Speedster was toying with you before; his sister's the real danger. She's taken down half the team, and she'll be coming for you soon. Get out_ now _."_

Real fear filled me, and I turned around, searching wildly for an exit. The only one I knew of was the one I came in by—and it was blocked. The metal behind me creaked, and I whirled around, my wings rising in defense. I came face to face with a pair of glowering blue eyes set in the center of a face as pale as death—and as I stood, frozen, a menacing red glow took the place of the blue.


	19. Chapter 19

The instant I met the girl's gaze, the scene around me changed. I wasn't standing in the center of an old warehouse, I was standing at the end of an isle. I wasn't wearing a gray combat suit, I was wearing a wedding dress. My right hand was tucked into the crook of Steve's arm, and my left held a beautiful bouquet of white flowers. I looked down, between rows of chairs and faces of friends old and new—

And saw James.

James was standing at the altar, tears in his eyes and a beautiful smile on his face. His hair was cropped short, the way he wore it before the war. His eyes glittered with joyous tears, and his expression was mirrored on my own face. His hands were clamped together in front of him.

"Are you ready?" Steve whispered.

I nodded, unable to keep the smile from my face.

"I love you, Katie," he squeezed my hand.

"I love you too, Steve."

We started walking—well, Steve walked; I felt like I was floating. When I finally reached the end of the isle, I was shaking. Steve passed my hand to James's, and I stepped up to face him.

"Hi," he whispered, squeezing my hand. His hands were shaking too.

"Hi," I breathed back.

"You're beautiful."

The minister began leading us through our vows, and we repeated them to one another, unable to keep the smiles off our faces. I thought I might cry—it had been so long, but he was here, and he was mine, and I was never going to lose him again.

The pastor began leading us through our vows, and James said his first. I was smiling so hugely that I thought I would never stop.

"I, James Buchanan Barnes, take you, Katherine Sarah Rogers, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part," James said clearly, gazing down at me like I was his whole world.

"I, Katherine Sarah Rogers, take you, James Buchanan Barnes," my lips pulled back from my teeth as joyous laughter bubbled up within me, "to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

"Katherine Rogers and James Barnes, you have each chosen to be joined in marriage today. The Bible states that 'Two are better than one; they receive a good reward for their toil, because, if one fails, the other can help the companion up again.' In my presence and in the presence of your family and friends, you have exchanged vows and made promises. You have opened your hearts to one another, declared your love and friendship, and have united yourself with the exchanging of rings. Therefore, with the blessings of God, it is my pleasure to now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!"

I reached up and wrapped my arms around James neck as he bent down and kissed me with a new passion, wrapping one arm around my waist and cupping my cheek with the other as I leaned back. This was a kiss meant for a husband and wife, one I had never tasted before. We both were smiling, laughing with joy. He pulled back, tracing my face with one hand while the other rested against my back, holding me up.

"I love you, my beautiful wife," he murmured.

I caught a secret look in his eyes that I knew was meant only for me. I blushed as he kissed me quickly one last time and lifted me gently to my feet. He lifted my hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against the back of it as we prepared to turn to the wildly applauding guests and walk down the aisle as man and wife.

I blushed and looked down—and a spray of red stained the front of my dress. My gaze dropped to look at the bright red stain that was spreading across the front of James's shirt, and I whipped my head up as the crowd began to scream, and I met James's confused, terrified eyes. Blue eyes widened, and his lips parted to say something as his knees buckled.

I tried to catch him—he was too heavy for me, and I fell back. I landed hard on my knees and leaned back, cradling him in my arms. I couldn't breathe—I was hyperventilating, panicking.

"James. James, y-you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." I looked around frantically. Everyone was fleeing the scene, not one person stopping to help. "Somebody help him! Please, somebody, help!"

"Hey, Katie." He caught my hand and brought it to his lips. "It's okay."

"No. You're not gonna die, James." I was crying harder than I ever had in my life, but James was shaking his head. I pressed down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but could only slow it as his blood soaked my hands and gathered beneath my nails. "Please—"

"Looks like it's the end of the line, Darlin'," he breathed, reaching up and gently touching my face. His lips were stained with blood, and red spots were flecked across the skin surrounding his mouth.

"No," I cried, brushing his hair back from his face, which was steadily growing paler as he lost more and more blood. My touch left streaks of scarlet on his face. "No, please—"

"Don't cry." He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing as I put more pressure on the wound. I felt as though someone had taken hold of my heart and squeezed— "I love you."

"I love you. I love you, please don't leave me—" I pressed my forehead to his, looking straight into his eyes, the blue eyes I had fallen in love with. "Please don't leave me."

I closed my eyes tightly, and when I opened them, his eyes were staring at nothing. His mouth was slightly open, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"No," I breathed, my grip on him tightening. An excruciating pain, one that I had felt only once before in my life, tore into me; it was as if someone had torn my heart from my chest. And they had, as surely as James's fall had destroyed me so many years before. "NO!"

This couldn't be happening. After everything I had gone through, after everything we had gone through—he couldn't be gone. Till the end of the line.

"No," I wept, resting my forehead against his. "Please. Don't leave me. Not again."

Let me die. Please, let me die. I promised. I promised him: to the end of the line. I missed the stop, I left him, he left me—

"Katie, we have to go!" Steve appeared behind me and wrapped his forearm around my waist, dragging me to my feet and away from James. I started kicking and screaming, fighting tooth and nail to get back to him. I wasn't leaving him, not again. I promised.

"Let me go!" I tugged at his arm, digging my heels in and trying to pull the super-soldier back towards the altar. Steve picked me up then, struggling to carry me. "Steve, please, I can't leave him!"

"I know, Katie, but we've got to move!" We hadn't moved at all, thanks to my struggling; James's body was only a few feet away.

"I'm not gonna leave him!" I thrashed in his grip, gasping and choking for breath, still sobbing. I reached out tot him, praying that he would wake up and take my hand and be okay— "James!" He wasn't moving. He was just lying there, dead. He promised me, I promised him—I couldn't leave him, I wouldn't leave him—

Steve shook me, hard, trying to get me out of harm's way. "We have to—"

Suddenly he stopped speaking, and I was falling, Steve was pulling me down— I hit the ground, landing on his chest, and pulled away to see that Steve wasn't breathing, that he wasn't moving, that there was a hole in his chest, and that his blood was soaking through my dress and into my skin.

"Steve. Steve." My lips had gone numb, my ears ringing. Every sound I heard was muffled as though coming from underwater. "No, no, NO!"

I couldn't lose anyone else. I couldn't lose my brother—

"You promised. You promised, Steve, please, you can't leave me, don't leave me, please!" I pressed my forehead against his chest and gripped the front of his jacket in both my hands. Tears streamed down my face, soaking the front of his coat. I pressed against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. "Come back!"

Someone grabbed the back of my dress and yanked me off the ground. I was spun around, and I found myself face to face with Alexander Pierce. Two masked man grabbed me from either side, pinning my arms down, and they dragged me away. Pierce and his men walked over the bodies of my brother and husband—oh, God, my husband—as though they were nothing.

My back began to burn. They threw me into a familiar, bloodstained cell. They showed me live feed of two bodies, mangled almost beyond recognition—it was my husband and my brother—oh God, what did they do—"What did you do?!" I screamed, lunging for the door, clawing at it, swearing and fighting to be free, to get to them, to save them—I broke through the door, stumbling into walls as I fought to reach them—

And then they found me, and I was chained to a wall, fighting for my life, screaming—

"Please," I whispered. The first bolts of agony shot through me, and I pressed myself against the stone, screaming. "PLEASE!" I struggled to move my wings, beat the attackers away—and then there was only one. My screams reached a nightmarish pitch as my mind began to slip, as even the Angel grew too panicked and terrified to take over. "JAMES, PLEASE!"

But he wasn't here, he was gone, he was dead—but I could feel metal hands holding me down, choking me, hurting me—and I pressed my chest against the wall to try and move away from the pain. The screams that echoed through that room drilled into my head, driving me mad, and the pain went bone-deep, driving tortured screams from my throat. I tried to escape, to throw my body against the chains, to tear my wing free—and then it was gone.

Blood was everywhere, coating my skin and the stone. Sobs and screams tore through my lips. I hung by my wrists from the wall, unable to keep my feet. Someone unshackled me, and I crumpled to the floor and landed in a pool of my own blood, unable to move—

And then someone grabbed me from behind and hauled me to my feet—

The scene around me disintegrated like melting snow. I was still screaming, crying, fighting against whoever was holding me, trying to escape the pain, trying to get back to my brother and my husband—and Clint was holding me, shaking me. He spun me around to face him.

"Katie. Can you hear me? You need to say something. Look at me." The archer was visibly shaken, his face ashen. Besides that, though, he looked alright.

I looked around wildly, my chest heaving. We were in a warehouse, not at a wedding, not a cell, not a Hydra facility. Carnage was everywhere—but there were no bodies. I twisted in his grip to look down at my feet—Steve and James weren't there. I wasn't wearing a dress, or torn jeans, I was in uniform. I had my wings. I didn't hurt as badly, though the echoes were still there, but I couldn't stand, I was so weak. I looked up, meeting the fearful grey eyes of the man who was keeping me grounded, keeping me from flying apart.

"Clint?" That was all I could managed before I fell apart. He pulled me close to him, and I buried my head in his chest, gripping the front of his uniform, using it as a lifeline. My knees buckled as I sagged against him until his strength was all that was holding me up. He held me close, rubbing my back soothingly. I knew what he had to be thinking. For me to be this broken down about something—I hadn't cried at all in the last four months. For me to suddenly lose it…

"It's okay," he breathed, holding me tighter. "It's going to be okay."

"I watched them die," I breathed, shaking my head. I was shaking like a leaf, and my body had gone numb—it was preferable to the spasms of pain that still wracked my body. I tightened my grip, worried I might collapse. A tight, invisible band was wrapped around my chest, keeping me from breathing—"I watched them die. I watched them die."

"C'mon," he grunted, helping me forward. "We have to get out of here."

He ended up carrying me out of the building; I didn't have the strength to walk. He crossed to the Quinjet, his feet sinking into the mud that carpeted this side of the country.

I hadn't stopped crying, although my sobs had lessened. Hot, silent tears traced their way down my cheeks, and I couldn't stop shaking, despite the African heat. "I watched them die," I kept muttering through numb lips. With every repetition, my grip on Clint's uniform would tighten, and I would curl into a smaller and smaller ball. My wings trailed the ground. My wings, the ones that I had felt being cut off twice. "I watched them die."

The Quinjet's door was open, and Clint staggered inside. Only Natasha was already inside, curled up in a ball in a chair beneath a blanket, staring blankly at nothing. He took me to one of the pull out beds, which also acted as a gurney, and lay me down on it. He passed me my bag, which held clothing, photos, and a few other things, and then gently pushed me back against the thin mattress.

"Breathe," he whispered, pushing my now loose hair back out of my face. "I'll be back soon."

He then headed back out to find the rest of the team.

My throat burned from screaming, and eventually my voice disappeared until all I could do was mouth the words, 'I watched them die.'

Tony was the next person to return, and he was leading a shirtless Bruce Banner, who was covered in dust and dirt. Tony give him a blanket, and the doctor curled up on the floor, sitting back against a wall, pulling the blanket tighter around himself like a child might. Tony left then, to find Clint and help him.

I curled into a tighter ball, shivering. My wings tightened around me like a feathery cocoon, the ends trailing dirt across the sheets. Where was Steve? What if the vision had been real—a vision of the future? Or what if it had shown me Steve and James's deaths in the way it would hurt me most, but they had already died? What if Ultron or one of the enhanced had killed them?

Thor returned on his own, his hammer held loosely in his right hand. When he reached a seat, he collapsed heavily, letting the weapon drop onto the floor with a clang. The demigod leaned forward, pressing his forehead into his hands, and said nothing.

I pressed my back against the side of the jet and pulled a blanket from my bag. Instead of using it for warmth, which I dearly needed, I held it like a teddy bear, like I had when I was little.

Back then, when I was a little girl, it had been my one luxury, the thing I prized more than anything else. And, having grown up during the Great Depression and the Second World War… well. Let's just say I didn't have many things of my own. But this bear… my father had bought it for me when my mother was expecting. Steve had been the one to suggest it—he was only a few years old at the time. He had a little bit of money back then, because of the Roaring Twenties, and he and my dad went in together to buy it. I never had a chance to know my dad, so I held onto that bear when I was scared, pretended that I could feel my daddy holding onto me. Often, as a child, Steve would crawl into my bed or crib and hold me until I calmed down while I clutched that stuffed bear like it was my lifeline.

It was a defense mechanism. I would curl up around that bear, protecting it and me from harm. When I didn't have the bear, or a pillow, or a blanket, I would wrap one arm around the other, pulling both to my chest, curling into a small ball and then drifting off to sleep.

That bear wasn't my lifeline, I realized now. Steve was. And the thought that he could be dead, gone forever, had me reverting to the impulses I had had as a child. I curled tighter around the wadded up blanket, pressing my face into it.

Tony and Clint had to work together to get my brother to the jet, neither being strong enough to support his weight on their own. I managed to sit up, throw my wobbly legs over the side of the bed—Steve, whom Clint had been murmuring to when he walked onto the Quinjet, crossed to me quickly and picked me up in his arms, holding me tightly.

"I'm here." His voice was hollow. "You're okay."

Steve let me get my breastplate off and then set me down before taking up his place beside me, and his weight made the thin mattress sink down. He pulled the blanket over my shoulders, tucking me in like he had when I was little. I was curled into a ball, the blanket around my body and my wings around that. I had pulled a small pillow to my chest, my head resting on the corner of it, and Steve's arm rested on my shoulders. The top of my head was pressed against the side of Steve's leg—I could feel him sitting on a few pieces of my hair.

I had seen it all over again. I had lived it all over again. I watched them both die, I saw their bodied desecrated, torn apart, I watched my husband die. My husband. My husband. James.

I could hear Maria Hill talking with us over the speakers, but I didn't look up. "The news is loving you guys. Nobody else is. There's been no official call for Banner's arrest, but it's in the air."

What the girl—Wanda, I knew now—had made Bruce do… what she had made all of us see… I was angry. Beyond angry. She had hurt so many people because of her hatred of Tony Stark. I wanted to kill her for what she'd made me see, what she'd made me feel.

"Stark Relief Foundation?" Tony asked.

"Already on the scene. How's the team?"

"Everyone's... We took a hit. We'll shake it off," Tony's reply, which had started off confident, dwindled to something resembling defeat by the time he finished. I glanced up to see him looking away from me.

"Well for now I'd stay in stealth mode, and stay away from here," Maria warned softly.

"So, run and hide?" Tony inquired. I turned my head, pressing it into the crook of my arm. Steve's grip on me tightened, and I reached up and took his hand. I needed to know that he was here, alive. I could go to sleep because every time I closed my eyes, I saw him and James lying on the ground in front of me, dead. Bolts of pain, phantom pain, kept shooting up my back, and I kept flinching, whimpering. Steve didn't understand what was wrong.

"Until we can find Ultron, I don't have a lot else to offer."

"Neither do we." Tony switched off the monitor and crossed to Clint, who was currently flying the Quinjet, "Hey, you wanna switch out?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm good. If you wanna get some kip, now's a good time, cause we're still a few hours out."

"A few hours from where?"

Clint's answer was barely audibly. "A safe house."

"Are you okay?" Steve asked softly.

"We have to go, we have to move, Katie! We have to—"

I shuddered, my breath hitching, and shook my head. A few damp curls slipped down and covered my face. "I watched you die," I whispered hoarsely. I didn't bother mentioning that I'd just relived the most painful experience of my life—having my wings swan off—which was now tied with watching the two men I loved most die in my arms.

His fingers tightened on mine minutely, and he took a deep breath. "It wasn't real," he replied softly.

"It felt real," I breathed. I could still feel his blood, James's blood, caking beneath my fingernails, cracking on my skin. I could see two pairs of blue eyes staring lifelessly past me. I could feel their hands growing cold, see their faces draining of color as their blood flowed from them onto me. I could still feel the stone beneath my bare skin, feel the metal hands holding me down, feel the blade sawing through bone—

"I'm not going anywhere," Steve murmured, reaching over and smoothing my hair away from my sweaty face. "Try to rest, Katherine." I stared straight ahead, unblinking, shaking. I pulled my knees and wings in tighter, and a few marginal covert feathers rubbed against my cheek. "It's not real."


	20. Chapter 20

"Katie. Katherine, wake up."

My eyes flew open and I jerked upwards with a start, almost slamming my skull into Steve's nose. He managed to duck out of the way just in time, falling back onto the floor.

"Steve." I shook my head, rubbing my eyes. I hadn't meant to fall asleep. I didn't want to fall asleep. I kept seeing Wanda's vision playing over and over inside my head. Steve woke me up right before someone put another bullet in James's chest.

"We're here," Steve murmured, stuffing my things into my bag and helping to pull a trench coat on over my wings and uniform. "Clint's safe house."

I couldn't walk. My mind had been fried from the reminder of the torture I had endured, and add that to the pain I felt from being taken down by Pietro… I wasn't doing well. Steve picked me up and carried me, and I did little to protest. I wrapped my left arm around his shoulders and clasped his right hand, which pressed against my ribs, in my right.

Clint led us down a short path through a cluster of trees. The terrain was eerily similar to that of his first home: wooded hills and mountains ringed the area, and his home was nestled in a small valley. The cozy, white farmhouse was nearly identical to the other, so much so that I did a double take, confused. There was a barn behind the house, rusted stadium lights behind that—

Clint fell back to walk beside Steve and I, supporting Natasha. "We always had a backup, just in case," he explained softly. "Similar to the other one, but not identical. We wanted the kids to feel as much at home as possible."

I nodded, resting my head against my brother's shoulder.

We strode up the dirt walkway and I watched the team's expressions from over my brother's shoulder. Thor looked around, curious and wary. "What is this place?"

Tony shrugged. "Safe house?"

Clint nodded, opening the door. "Let's hope." He led the way inside, peering around the corners. Steve turned slightly to avoid hitting my head or feet against the doorframe, and the others filed in behind us. "Honey, I'm home."

Laura appeared from the kitchen, cleaning her hands on a cloth. My mouth fell open, and a suddenly surge of tears filled my eyes. She was _pregnant_ —very pregnant. For a moment the memories and nightmares faded, replaced by joy for her and for Clint. They hadn't told me—but I didn't care.

"Hi. Company. Sorry I didn't call ahead."

"Hey," she whispered, cutting him off as she reached up and kissed her husband. He responded immediately, wrapping his around around her as she cupped his face in her hands.

Tony was beyond confused, and I found it extremely amusing. He glanced around at the others for help. "This is an agent of some kind."

Clint turned to the rest of us, keeping his arm securely around his wife. "Gentleman, this is Laura."

Mrs. Barton smiled shyly, nodding her head in greeting. "I know all your names."

The others said nothing, but Tony waved. Steve grunted and lowered me to the ground, making sure to keep an arm around me to keep me from falling over. I kept one arm around his shoulders and gripped his hand tightly in mine, using him as an anchor.

"Ooh, incoming," Clint grinned, stooping down as Cooper and Lila ran into the living room, laughing.

"Dad!"

"Hi, Sweetheart!" Clint scooped his daughter up and then bent to kiss his son's head, hugging them both tightly. "Hey, Buddy! How you guys doing? Ooh…"

"These are… smaller agents," Tony continued to try and reason, befuddled.

"Look at your face! Oh, my goodness!" Clint cooed, brushing his daughter's hair back.

"Did you bring Auntie Nat?" Lila asked as her father lowered her to the ground.

Natasha, who until this point had been staring blankly into space, turned to look down at the little girl, admiration and love shining in her eyes. "Why don't you hug her and find out?" Lila rushed towards Natasha, who lifted her into her arms and spun her around.

"Hey, Katie." Cooper wandered over towards me, and I bent down to hug him tightly as he hugged my back slowly. Boys. What can you do? I remember my brother had been awkward around girls—even more so than Mr. Cooper Barton here.

Steve kept a protective hand on my shoulder, making sure I didn't keel over.

"Hey, Coop," I smiled, biting back tears and a gasp of pain as a sharp pang shot out from my shoulder blades. "How've you been?"

"Good."

"Sorry for barging in on you," Steve smiled courteously at Laura. He was the only one of the men who had known Laura and the kids existed, and it was clear that he was doing his best to diffuse the tension in the room.

Cooper returned to his father's side as Lila tackled me in a hug, knocking me against Steve and back on my heels with an enthusiastic, "Katie!" I hugged her back, laughing weakly and trying to keep from crying out. My arms were shaking, but the little girl didn't seem to notice. My brother did, though, and I felt him tense up when I fell against his legs.

"Hi, Sweetie."

Tony decided to butt in and try to take control of the situation. "Yeah, we would have called ahead, but we were busy having no idea that you existed."

Clint shrugged, wrapping his arms around his wife and son. "Yeah, well Fury helped me set this up when I joined. He kept it off SHIELD's files; I'd like to keep it that way. I figure it's a good place to lay low." His tone was both light and cautioning, making it clear that anyone who mentioned his family to an outsider would be dealt with quickly and efficiently.

"Honey. Ah, I missed you," Laura murmured, kissing her husband's cheek as Natasha approached.

Natasha bent down, resting her hands on Laura's stomach. "How's little Natasha, huh?"

Laura grimaced apologetically as Lila made her way back to Clint. "She's… Nathaniel."

I smiled weakly and made to rise, only for my knees to buckle. Steve caught me and pulled me to my feet, letting me use him for support. I kept one hand on the back of the couch, trying to keep from collapsing. My back kept spasming, sending phantom pains shooting down my spine.  
"Are you alright?" he whispered. I shook my head as I began to shake again. I was not alright. I was everything _but_ alright. I couldn't get his face—their faces—out of my head.

The toaster went off, and the resulting sound sent all the PTSD-ridden heroes in the vicinity on high alert. I myself jumped almost a foot in the air, and my heart just about leapt from my chest before I sagged against the couch, squeezing my eyes shut. My knees wobbled, threatening to give out, and Steve's grip on my shoulder tightened for a moment before he let go.

"Thor." I glanced back to see Steve following the demigod out the front door, then watched as Thor spoke a few words to my brother, shook his head, and flew off into the air.

"Cooper," Laura called her son to her side. "Can you move your things to your sister's room?" The boy glanced around at all of us and then nodded before scurrying away. His light footsteps echoed through the house as he bounded up the stairs.

"Why don't you all get cleaned up?" Laura suggested, taking in our frazzled and filthy appearances. She reached out to me with one hand, beckoning me forward, and I obeyed, limping. When I reached her, she rested one hand soothingly on my back. "C'mon," she murmured, turning and steering me away. "Follow me. Would you show the rest of them around?" she called lightly to Clint, who nodded. "We'll figure out sleeping arrangements later."

Laura showed me around the house on my way to the bathroom. "Do you have clothes?" she asked. "Or should I get some from the closet?" Since my last extended stay, we had decided to keep a few sets of clothing tucked away somewhere in case of emergency. Right now, I was glad I had.

"Um—" I swallowed, shaking my head. I couldn't concentrate. Lying behind every thought and every word were screams of pain, of grief, of fear. I fought to concentrate, and both my voice and my body trembled from the effort of holding my emotions in check. "S-Steve has my bag—I think I packed s-some things in there before I l-left."

She studied my face a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright." She reached over and rubbed my cheek, the way my mother did when I was small. "I'll get something for you to wear, and I'll leave it outside the door for you."

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. She turned to go and I reached out, catching her hand. "Congratulations," I whispered, smiling slightly though the film of tears that had appeared over my eyes. She smiled, practically glowing, and rested a hand on her swollen stomach before passing out of sight.

I peeled off my uniform and leaned against the wall of the shower, leaving the clothes in a sweaty, bloody heap on the floor and letting the scalding water soak into my hair and skin. I couldn't get the screams out of my head. I tangled my hands in my hair, tugging at it and scrubbing the blood and sweat from the snarls and knots that had accumulated there. I rubbed the bar of soap across my skin, paying special attention to my hands. I could still feel the blood caked under my fingernails, dried on my arms, my back, my face. I shuddered as the bar of soap slipped from my fingers, sliding across the tile and into the corner. That little motion sent me over the edge, and I ended up in a ball on the floor, my wings sodden and spread out on either side of me. I pressed my fists to my eyes and choked on a sob.

 _"_ _Hey, Katie. It's okay."_

"No," I shook my head, pressing a trembling, soapy hand against my mouth. I curled up tighter, bringing my knees to my chest. "You're not gonna die, James. Please."

 _"_ _Looks like it's the end of the line, Darlin'."_

"No," I rasped, shaking my head and trembling feverishly. My wings moved to wrap around my shoulders as I dug my nails into my temples, trying to force the voices out of my head. "No, no please—"

 _"_ _Don't cry. I love you."_

"I love you." I pressed my engagement ring to my lips, rocking back and forth on the tile floor that was still cold despite the downpour of hot water beating down on it. "Please don't leave me." I opened my eyes, and for a moment I swore I saw his lifeless blue eyes staring back at me from the mirror-like tiles at the same time that a sound like a gunshot echoed through the small room. A shriek tore from my throat, and in my hurry to escape the room, I slipped and fell, sending a rack of bottles to the floor with a loud clatter.

I grabbed a towel from the rack and pulled it and my wings around my body right before several people burst into the bathroom, all yelling over one another. I didn't answer, just pulled the drenched towel tighter around me, whimpering. Laura's voice cut through the clamor as she ordered everyone out of the bathroom, and I pressed my quivering hands to my ears. I could hear him. I could hear James. I could hear him take that last, rattling breath, hear the blood in his lungs.

"Katherine," Laura placed her hand on mine, squatting down awkwardly and balancing with her other hand her stomach. She pried my hands gently from my ears. "Katherine, look at me."

I finally did, and when I did I realized that I was crying hysterically, my tears mingling with the water spilling from the shower head down onto the two of us. Laura was getting soaked, but she didn't say anything about it. She just reached over and grabbed a washcloth and began to wipe the suds from my hair and hands, softly murmuring a lullaby. I dimly recognized the tune and the words from a lullaby my mother sang to me when I was small—so this was a very old song, then. I managed to calm down as she continued to sing, getting my breathing under control.

Laura reached up and turned off the water, passing me a new, dry towel as she stood, grunting as she did so. "Dry off," she said softly. She patted a small stack of clothing she had placed on the counter. "Get dressed and then find me; I'll show you your room."

Hours later as I sat curled into a ball on the window seat of my room, someone knocked on the door. I didn't bother answering; if they were going to come in, they would. Sure enough, the door creaked open a moment later. I didn't bother turning around; I just rested my forehead against the glass, watching the sun begin its downward climb. The kids were playing in the grass outside, chasing each other around. They reminded me of Steve and I when we were young.

"How're you doing?" Clint grunted as he sat down beside me, leaning back against the windowsill.

I shrugged, swallowing. My throat hurt badly, and my voice—what was left of it—was scratchy and weak. "I don't know," I rasped.

"You brother's worried about you."

"I'm sorry." I didn't want Steve to worry about me. I didn't want to hurt him. I just couldn't bear to see him, not when the last time I saw his face was when he died in my arms. I shuddered and wrapped the knit blanket tighter around my shoulders.

"What'd the girl show you?"

I pursed my lips and closed my eyes as a new wave of tears threatened to spill over onto my cheeks. My teeth ground together as I took a deep breath, forcing away the sea of fear and anguish that threatened to overwhelm me. "What I fear most. I was getting married—I _was_ married, and then they took James from me. They took Steve from me. I felt them cut off my wings. Again. I saw them die, Clint. They tore their bodies apart." My voice broke, and my fingers clenched painfully around the thin pillow that covered the seat below me. "I couldn't do anything to stop it," I breathed.

"It wasn't real, Katie."

 _Wasn't it?_ "I've watched James die before. I listened to Steve die. I felt them cut off my wings. All of it was real—" my voice cracked painfully, and I looked down as tears dropped from my eyes down my cheeks. _I can't do this._

"No." Clint reached over and squeezed my uninjured knee. "It wasn't real. That girl showed you what you were afraid of—" he sighed, shaking his head. "You're afraid being left alone." I met his gaze, letting the tears fall unhindered from my eyes. "I promise you, as long as I'm alive, you won't be alone. I'm going to take care of you." A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "'sides. Soon you'll be well looked after."

"Katie?" Steve knocked on the door, making Clint and I both look up. "I'm sorry to interrupt."

"No, no, you're fine." Clint stood up, resting a steady hand on my shoulder. I stared down at the ground, fighting back a huge mix of emotions ranging from terror to joy to sorrow. "I was just heading out."

Clint left, leaving the door open behind him. Steve waited until he was gone to join me, pulling up a chair to rest beside my own seat.

"What did you see?" he asked abruptly, staring down at his clasped hands.

I choked on my water, almost spitting it against the window. My heart clenched painfully, and I looked over at my brother, feeling betrayed. He already knew—Clint had told him, hadn't he? So why would he ask me? Every time someone asked me that question or one similar to it—'What did you see?' 'Do you remember this?' 'What happened here?'—they made me remember the event, made me relive it. Didn't they understand how much it hurt? How ruined my mind was? Couldn't they just leave me alone? After all of this, I'd have thought my brother had figured it out.

"I saw the end of the war," he murmured, not giving me a chance to answer. He tapped his foot a few times against the hardwood floor. "Everyone was celebrating, dancing… but everywhere I looked, there were still signs of the war. I thought I saw a man shot, men fighting, a woman with blood on her mouth." He shook his head. "It was really spilled punch, friendly banter, and lipstick. Then Peggy was there, asking me to dance, saying we could go home…" his voice broke.

"Your PTSD," I shrugged sadly. I didn't mean it in indifference, not at all, and I understood what he felt. I myself had leapt into the air at the sound of a toaster; I understood how war effected people. How pain effected people. "Even with the war being over, you still see things through those lenses." _They never really go away._ I didn't tell him that; I think he knew already.

"What did you see?" he repeated.

I told him. Why wouldn't I? If I didn't, he wouldn't stop asking. Besides—I made him a promise. I wasn't going to hide anything from him anymore. I couldn't meet his gaze the entire time, and when I was finished, he was silent. The sun had dropped, and now it brushed against the ridge of the mountains in the distance, sending a dark golden glow over the valley.

"I'm so sorry," he finally said, sighing deeply. He looked so tired in that moment, and I finally felt that we both felt our age. We were old, out of place. We didn't belong here anymore, but here we were.

"'s not your fault," I mumbled, rubbing my gritty eyes with my fists.

"I didn't say it was, Katie. But it's not your either."

"I can't get his face out of my head." It didn't matter whether my eyes were open or shut. I kept seeing him on the ground, dead, blue eyes staring blankly at the sky. I still could feel his blood on my hands.

"It'll pass," he breathed, reaching over and squeezing my hand. "Trust me."

"Did yours?" I asked, glancing up at him.

He sighed again, and a shadow passed over his face. His grip on my hand tightened, and then he released it. "It'll pass."


	21. Chapter 21

The next morning I woke up very early. Steve, who was sleeping on an air mattress on the floor, didn't stir when I got up and left the room. I changed out of my pajamas and left the house, keeping an eye open for any threats. I left my wings bare, letting my feathers brush the grass as I walked.

The grounds were beautiful. A dirt road led the way from the farm, disappearing into the fog. The sun hadn't risen yet, and everything was tinted gray and violet. Trees rose out of the mist like mighty pillars, stretching high enough to touch the starry sky. The grass was soaked with dew, every few yards, a pair of long ears poked out of the grass. A few deer were clustered on the edge of the treeline, taking advantage of the early hour to graze in peace. The rest of the herd was asleep. One buck lifted its great head as I approached, watching me with liquid eyes. I stopped a few yards away, and it continued to gaze at me, unafraid. Its herd paid me no mind.

"Hello," I murmured, holding out a hand. It blinked and snorted, sending up a cloud of steam from its nostrils. I moved forward carefully until I touched the deer's flank, stroking its coarse fur. It shivered slightly but went back to grazing, otherwise ignoring me. "You might just be the only thing that's not afraid of me," I sighed, petting it gently and cooing softly to keep the animal calm.

I stepped back from it as the herd began to stir and moved away, unwilling to startle the animals. When I reached the edge of the field, I took to the sky. I wanted to see the sun rise over the mountains. It would be the first time in years I had been able to see something like this.

The air around me provided light enough to see, and so I removed a piece of paper from my pocket, the second half of my final letter from James. I had been right—James had taken it—and he had returned it to Clint to give to me.

 **I want you to go back to the states. Don't go back to Brooklyn; it'll be too painful for you. I know how you get; don't torture yourself with memories of me. Go out West or down South—go somewhere new and start over. Be happy. Find a new home without me, Katie.**

 **Move out into the country. I know how much you love the stars: it's why I proposed to you under them. I want you to go somewhere far away from a city-the woods, the prairie, somewhere wild and free—and settle down. Somewhere quiet and beautiful where you can live in nature. Study the stars, rides horses, run as much as you want. You've never looked more beautiful than you did the night I proposed to you—your hair was down, you were wearing my jacket with a blanket pulled up to your chin, and the stars were shining in your eyes. And you know what? Your smile put those stars to shame. I want you to smile like that again, Katie. Even if it's not with me.**

 **I want you to know that when you agreed to marry me, you made me the happiest man alive. You are beautiful and brilliant and strong and good; never forget that. You are mine. You would have made a wonderful mother, my dear. And someday, maybe, you still will.**

 **Did I ever tell you that I asked Steve for his blessing to marry you? At first I half expected him to lay me out—he's strong enough now; before he wouldn't have been able to—but he started grinning like an idiot instead. Do you know what he said? He said, "About damn time." He and Howard had a bet going, apparently, on how long it would take me to ask you; Steve got about fifty bucks off Howard. Dum-Dum was in the room; I thought he was about to start bawling his eyes out, knowing his Kate was going to get married. He said he had something in his eyes, but he wasn't fooling anyone. He and the others care about you a lot, Angel, and though I sincerely hope that you never have to read this letter, know that if I'm gone, the others'll take good care of you.**

 **I wish with all my heart that I had more time with you. Someday I'll see you again. I promise. I love you, my Darling Katie.**

 **Your James**

The sky had lightened, though a couple stars still beamed in defiance to the sun on the western horizon. The few clouds in the sky had begun to change hue, shifting from gray to violet to rosy pink. I soared in circles above the farm, breathing in the cool air, and then swept higher, flying until Clint's farm was a speck far beneath my feet and the world was spread out before me. Tears froze on my cheeks and I flew towards the rising sun as the morning light spilled over the edge of the mountain, soaking into the earth. The mist below me was soaked with sunlight, burning bright gold, and the clouds above me burned with indescribable intensity, glowing with colors I had never seen.

I remembered the many mornings James would take me to the roof of a building—his, mine, the one in London— or to a hill so we could watch the sunrise. He would love this. "I wish you were here," I whispered, tucking his letter into my jacket to rest near my heart.

I could find him. I could leave right now, fly to him, join him—was I really needed here? There were so many others who were stronger than me, others who could fight. They didn't need me. I didn't want to risk my future with James.

But I wasn't going to risk Steve's life either. I wouldn't let him die, not when there was something I could do about it.

The wind whipped my hair back and drew tears from my eyes. I soared higher, straining to touch the clouds. The one I made it high enough to reach was the color of coral, although the inside was a soft, muted pink. I emerged from the cloud shivering and dripping wet and was forced to retire as frost crystals began to form on my wings, threatening my life.

When I touched down in the field beside Clint's farm, the mist had been burned away by the sun. A few lights were on inside, and I could hear plates and silverware clattering together through the open window.

Laura was in the kitchen making breakfast. Cooper was sitting at the bar looking half asleep, a glass of chocolate milk in front of him. He was still in his pajamas.

"Good morning," I chimed softly, leaning against the counter. I picked up a towel and began patting my face and arms dry.

Mrs. Barton smiled over her shoulder at me and removed a carton of eggs from the fridge. "Morning, Katherine. How did you sleep?"

I shrugged, crossing one foot over the other. I reached back, rubbing the towel over my soaked, freezing feathers. "Alright."

"How was your flight?" Cooper asked, looking slightly more awake. He had, since discovering that I had wings, been utterly fascinated by them. Both Clint and myself had refused to let him fly with me—I wasn't about to risk his life—but he still asked for details whenever he knew I'd been out flying.

"Cold and wet," I chuckled, grinning at him and moving onto the other wing. "Beautiful. The sunrise was extraordinary this morning."

"Why are you up so early?" Bruce appeared in the doorway, blinking groggily. He was dressed in dark sweatpants and a green flannel, looking like a sleep deprived teenager.

"I could ask you the same question. I was out flying," I answered, casting him a curious look as I turned around and accepted the glass of orange juice Laura offered. "You?"

Bruce made a noncommittal noise, sighing through his nose. "I had to shower."

His depressed look told me not to press him further, so I nodded and passed him a mug of coffee before excusing myself to change into dry clothes. Steve wasn't in the room, although his bed and mine both were impeccably made. A side effect of being in the army, I supposed.

The next few hours were spent sparring with Natasha. She had been just as shaken by her vision as I had by mine and needed to get her mind off what she had seen. The two of us decided to work out our frustration by fighting one another. We both were as lightly as possibly given the cold weather: shorts and sports bras or tank tops, either barefoot or in tightly tied tennis shoes. Natasha had been trained in the snow in hardly any clothes, and I had spend most of my life either in cryo-freeze or in Canada. The cold didn't have a huge effect on either of us.

"So…" I circled her warily, rolling my shoulders. Her face was completely blank but for the glittering of her hazel eyes. I cracked a smile. "You and Bruce, eh?"

Her expression flickered for a moment before becoming impassive once more. She made a noncommittal noise in her throat as she lunged forward and down, as agile as a cat. She ducked beneath my arm, and I flipped into the air, landing where she had stood a moment before and turning in time to catch her wrist as it brushed past my cheek. I wrenched her closer, flipping her over my shoulder. She landed on the ground and lashed out, her ankle kicking mine brutally and bringing me to the ground with her. I landed on my side and rolled out of the way just in time to avoid her elbow as it came down where my sternum had just been.

A moment later we both were on our feet again. I moved first this time, holding back just enough that I didn't seriously injure her. That is, until she had me flat on my back.

"You're pulling your punches," she stated flatly, looking almost disappointed.

"I don't want to hurt you," I shrugged, accepting her hand as she pulled me to my feet. The force of my pull, a side-effect of my strength, almost pulled her to the ground with me, something she found amusing.

Natasha scoffed, glancing over her shoulder at Clint, who was watching from the porch. "That's not going to be an issue. I've fought your boyfriend, Rogers. He's just as enhanced as you are."

I froze in surprise. "Really?" I hadn't known that. When had that happened? "How'd that work out for you?"

"Before he shot me?" She shook her head, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "It was fun. And I was winning."

We settled back into defensive positions on opposite sides of the circle Clint had drawn in the dirt. We both struck at the same time, and this time, neither of us held back. She really _had_ been holding back before—even with my strength it was difficult keeping her at bay. Neither of us were aiming to harm, and definitely not to kill, but by the end of the second round, both of us had a few scrapes and bruises.

The third round, we used weapons. Not legitimate, lethal weapons, of course, but training ones Clint had in his barn—either blunted metal or wooden. Natasha and I both had knives, and we both were using them with flawless efficiency. Natasha and I had roughly the same amount of training under our belts, though I had a few more decades of life on her, and I was doing my best to find a chink in her armor, something that would allow me to get the upper hand.

While I was looking for that weak spot, Natasha found mine. She lunged forward, dancing around me—she moved with the agility and grace of a ballerina, and I couldn't help but wonder if she had once been one—and struck me in the center of the back, right between my wings. At the same time, she kicked the back of my knee, dropping me. I rolled over as she surged forward, knocking me back into the dirt and pinning me, her knees digging into my shoulders and the tip of her knife pressed against my jugular.

We both were breathing hard. A smile spread across my face. "I haven't had a match like that in ages," I grunted as she helped me to my feet. "You're good."

She chuckled lightly. "I should be. You trained me."

Both my gaze and my stomach dropped to my toes. "I'm sorry," I murmured, letting go of her hand and crossing my arms over my bare stomach. I didn't really remember that part of my life—I tried not to remember the horrible things I'd done under Hydra—but I remembered enough. I recalled a little fiery-haired and -tempered girl whom I had trained personally, one who had grown into the woman who stood before me now.

"If not you, someone else," she replied, no longer smiling. "You at least had some semblance of humanity: you protected the other girls when you could."

I glanced up, my heart sinking. Clint had disappeared from the porch. "But not you?"

The Russian shrugged, shaking her head. "You tried. But others were assigned to me and soon after, you disappeared. Where did you go?"

"Cryo freeze," I answered darkly, grabbing a towel from the ground and drying the sweat from my face. "They thought I was starting to remember."

"Were you?" Natasha arched a delicate eyebrow, examining me closely.

"I don't know. The next thing I fully remember is waking up in Howard's living room."

"Howard Stark?" Natasha looked fully surprised for the first time.

"Yeah." I moved back and sat down on one of the porch steps, leaning my head back against the railing as Natasha took a seat next to me. I combed through my memories, looking for the ones from right after I escaped. It was hard; I hadn't thought about that time for a long time, but I eventually found them. I closed my eyes, letting the afternoon sun seep into my skin and warm my bones. "He found me, somehow. Helped set me up in Canada near a friend of his."

"A friend?"

"Yeah. Logan. He never gave me a last name, but he was nice. He knew about my wings—he had abilities too, but he didn't tell me what—and helped get me settled after Howard died. He disappeared after a couple years; haven't heard from him since."

"Do you know how Howard died?" Natasha asked, choosing a seemingly random and unattached detail to talk about.

I opened one eye, frowning. "Car crash," I answered, studying the red-head. "I read about it in the papers back in'91, saw the picture."

The assassin nodded slowly, opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Right then, Bruce stepped out of the house. Natasha stood up, only the lines around her eyes marking the tension she felt. "I'm going to take a shower," she announced softly, offering me a sad smile. "By the way," she called over her shoulder. "You're not bad, either."

I moved up a little and ended up lounging in the porch swing,—a very nice porch swing, actually: more of a bed than a bench—one leg hanging off the side while my arms curved back to rest beneath my head. I could spend forever here. It was peaceful, beautiful… maybe James and I could go live on a farm somewhere.

Tony stepped out onto the porch. "So how's life treatin' ya?"

I blinked, startled from my thoughts, and glanced up and over at the man who was sitting cross-legged on the steps. I sat up, shaking out my wings, and shrugged. "Fine."

"Liar."

I scowled. "Tony—"

"You and the rest of the team falls apart and refuses to say why," he interrupted, a frown marring his features. "I just—"

"You know why," I growled irritably, swinging my other leg over the side of the swing and hissing when a jarring ache raced up my leg from where Natasha had kicked me. "The girl already spent some time messing with your head, now she's spent some time in ours." Tony paled. My tone softened. "What did you see, Tony?"

Before I had even finished speaking, he was on his feet, making his way towards a small pile of logs and an ax. He went to work almost immediately, pretending to ignore me, though he could do nothing to hide the grey cast and sheen of sweat that had coated his face when I asked him what he feared.

I spent the rest of the day flying after correctly assuming that I would be receiving no further answers from him or the rest of my teammates. Bruce was understandably closed off: after what Wanda made the Hulk do, I was surprised he hadn't gone AWOL. Natasha, after cleaning up, spent the day with Laura and Lila, and I didn't want to infringe upon their time together. Clint and his son spent the day working on a new rail for the porch. Steve and Tony spent the day splitting logs: the Bartons wouldn't need wood for about a decade.

Everyone was inside when I finally landed, but there was another visitor, one whom I hadn't seen in more than a year, who was waiting for me on the back porch. "Nick Fury," I blinked, startled. I hadn't thought of him in months, though last I heard he had faked his death and disappeared.

"Katherine Rogers." The old man stood and shook my hand before settling back against the steps. "Your old team is doing well."

I smiled and settled down beside him. "And Trip?" I asked, turning to look at the ex-SHIELD director. "Has he officially joined the team?"

The old man's mouth thinned. "Have you kept in contact with your team?" he asked instead, glancing over at me.

I shrugged. "Yes and no," I answered slowly, my smile disappearing from my face. "I haven't spoken to them lately."

He sighed, leaning forward. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this," he said gruffly but not unkindly. "Agent Triplett was killed in action about a month and a half ago. Seems some alien tech was involved—the Diviner. The crystals inside it shattered, and he got hit. I'm sorry."

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes, and stood quickly. I didn't have time for this. Why did everyone—I swallowed and went inside, leaving Fury on the porch. I bypassed the others, dodging their questions, and went upstairs to shower, cry, and grab a jacket.

When I finally entered the kitchen, it was dark outside. My team was spread out around the room, leaning against the walls, playing darts, sitting at the table. I leaned against the doorframe beside my brother, listening from the shadows.

Fury was speaking. His good eye flashed to rest on me before returning to jump between the others. "Ultron took you folks out of play to buy himself time. My contacts all say he's building something. The amount of Vibranium he made off with, I don't think it's just one thing."

"What about Ultron himself?" Steve asked, glancing over at me as Lila darted between us to give a brightly painted picture to Natasha, who doted on the girl, thanking her for the gift. _"Are you alright?"_ he mouthed. I shook my head, and he reached over, resting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it gently.

"Ah. He's easy to track; he's everywhere," Fury said, pretending he didn't see my brother and I silently communicating. "Guy's multiplying faster than a Catholic rabbit. Still doesn't help us get an angle on any of his plans though."

"He still going after launch codes?" Tony jumped in, concerned. I groaned and leaned against my brother, who moved to wrap an arm around my shoulders.

The ex-director nodded reluctantly. "Yes, he is, but he's not making any headway."

"I cracked the Pentagon's firewall in high school on a dare," Tony scoffed, scooping up a glass bottle of Cola. Apparently the Bartons had a shortage of beer in the house.

"Yeah, well, I contacted our friends at the NEXUS about that," Fury started.

"NEXUS?" Steve really couldn't be blamed for not knowing what NEXUS was—even I didn't know, although that didn't account for much.

"It's the world internet hub in Oslo, every byte of data flows through there, fastest access on earth," Bruce explained absently, lost in thought.

"So what'd they say?" Clint asked, leaning against the counter and idly fiddling with a few discarded darts. Tony threw a few at the board, narrowly missed the center, and moved forward to collect them.

"He's fixated on the missiles, but the codes are constantly being changed," Fury announced.

"By whom?" Tony asked, his brow furrowing. He jumped as three darted embedded themselves in the dartboard inches from his face. When he turned an accusing look on Clint, the archer just shrugged, grinning smugly. This likely was making up for Tony's jabs at Clint's inability to pick up Thor's hammer. Speaking of which…

"Party's unknown," Fury replied, lifting his eyebrow at the display.

I stepped forward into the light, tucking my hands into my pockets. "So does that mean we have an ally?"

Fury shook his head, one of the only people not surprised by my sudden entrance. "Ultron's got an enemy, that's _not_ the same thing. Still, I'd pay folding money to know who it is."

"I might need to visit Oslo, find our 'unknown,'" Tony muttered, trying and failing to get a bullseye on the dartboard.

"Well, this is good times, boss, but I was kind of hoping when I saw you, you'd have more than that," Natasha sighed, looking more tired than I'd ever seen her. Her arms were crossed over the table, and she leaned her full weight on them. She didn't seem to be bothered by the large black and blue bruise I knew was on her bicep: one of my only well-placed hits of the afternoon.

Fury looked genuinely surprised, as though he hadn't imagined one of his former agents wouldn't want to go back into the field. He pointed at her with his glass of iced tea. "I do, I have you. Back in the day, I had eyes everywhere, ears everywhere else. Here we all are, back on earth, with nothing but our wit and our will to save the world. Ultron says the Avengers are the only thing between him and his mission. And whether or not he admits it, his mission… is global destruction." I looked down, crossing my arms over my sweater. "All this," he gestured to Clint's home, his family, the team, "laid in a grave. So stand. Outwit the platinum bastard."

Natasha glanced coyly at my brother. "Steve doesn't like that kind of talk," she teased.

He sighed, shaking his head. A smile lifted his lips, reaching his eyes. "You know what, Romanoff?" Natasha smiled mischievously at him, pleased by the friendly banter.

"So what does he want?" Fury asked, drawing us back on track.

I shrugged, making my way to the counter and picking up a fresh bottle of Coke. "To become better. Better than us." I thanked Clint as he knocked the cap off my bottle and gave him a faux angry glance as he look a swig before giving it back again.

Steve picked up where I left off. "He keeps building bodies—"

Tony nodded, staring off into the distance, his mind moving at a million miles an hour. He interrupted my brother, barely paying attention to the conversation. " _Person_ bodies. The human form is inefficient, biologically speaking, we're outmoded. But he keeps coming back to it."

"When you two programmed him to protect the human race, you amazingly failed," Natasha glanced over at Bruce, who had migrated to stand over her right shoulder, staring down at Lila's painting of a butterfly.

"They don't need to be protected, they need to evolve. Ultron's going to evolve," Bruce murmured, frowning down at Lila's picture.

"How?" Fury leaned back, concerned.

"Has anyone been in contact with Helen Cho?" Bruce asked ominously, looking around.

"No. Why?" I asked, jumping up to sit on the counter and hitting a glass jar with my left wing. I caught it as it fell, but not before the edge cracked against the counter.

"She could potentially create a human form for Ultron," Bruce explained, sinking into a chair beside Natasha as I apologized profusely to Clint, who shook his head and placed the chipped mason jar on a higher shelf.

"Don't we want that?" I asked, looking around. My flushed cheeks cooled as I tossed the glass chips into the trash. "I mean, if Ultron becomes human, doesn't that make him vulnerable?" The others glanced at one another, silent. I glowered around the room, quickly losing my temper. Today had not been a good day: I had lost a fight, lost a friend—I wasn't in the mood to be ignored as well. "Look, I know I hadn't been fully human in a while. Not my fault, but whatever. But I know that humans—normal humans, at least—are vulnerable. They can be hurt, killed, taken down. If Ultron has a human form, he can't access the internet. He can't be in multiple places at once. Isn't that a good thing?"

It was Bruce who finally answered me. "Ultron _can't_ become a real human. Humans have to be born, not created by mankind and technology. He'll have an artificially body, but if the form is made of vibranium as we suspect, he'll be invincible."

I shook my head and set my bottle down on the counter without taking a sip. "Great."

Steve tapped my back lightly, looking at the rest of the team. "Banner, try and speak to Doctor Cho. The rest of you, get some sleep." He squeezed my shoulder. "We leave first thing in the morning."


	22. Chapter 22

"I know you're upset."

I turned my head, staring through the darkness at the faint outline of my brother on the floor. He was on his back on his air mattress, his arms folded beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling. A few squares of moonlight fell through the window to land beside him, and the edge of one illuminated his hair, turning the blond hairs white.

"I don't know why," he continued quietly. I didn't reply, choosing instead to listen. I couldn't lie on my back like I used to—I had to sleep on my stomach, keeping my wings folded over me. My left arm curved to rest under my head, letting my forehead rest in the crook of my elbow, and the other was tucked close to my side and held my left wrist in a loose grip. "I know it's more than what the girl showed you." He sighed, and the pile of blankets fell and rose with the movement of his chest. "It's Bucky, isn't it?"

It was my turn to sigh, letting a soft breath escape my nostrils as I pressed my forehead further into the downy pillow the Bartons had supplied. I missed him. My chest ached with missing him. Everything reminded me of his absence: the sky, Clint and Laura, the Barton kids, Natasha's Russian tirade earlier… I needed him like I needed air to breathe. He just wasn't here.

"I'm sorry for what happened," Steve murmured, his rough voice carrying farther than a whisper should. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him."

My breathing hitched when I realized that Steve had no idea that James and I had made contact. He thought that the last time I had been near James— _James,_ not the Winter Solider—had been in the 40s. I was lying to him.

"It wasn't your fault, Steve," I breathed. He turned his head, blue eyes glittering in the moonlight as they fixed on me.

"Yeah, it was. But I'm gonna find him, Katherine." I caught a flash of white as he smiled. "For you. I want to see you smile again."

"I smile all the time." I offered him a small grin. "See?"

"No." He sat up, and the blankets fell down off his bare chest to pool around his flannel-clad hips. "I want you to smile like you did when you were a kid—like you do whenever Bucky comes up in conversation. I want you to be the girl you were before all these horrible things happened." A smile pulled at my lips, but it quickly disappeared.

"A lot of stuff's happened to that girl, Stevie."

"I know." His voice was heavy with grief and guilt. "I know. And I know she can't come back; not completely. But she's still _there_. I see her sometimes. Whenever someone talks about Bucky, when you laugh, when you fly. She—you—are still there. They didn't get rid of you."

"It's gonna take more than a few years of pain to get rid of me," I chuckled softly, feeling my heart twinge in my chest as I downgraded my decades of agony to 'a few years of pain.'

"Don't do that." Steve's voice cut into my thoughts. "Don't diminish what you went through." He reached up and caught my hand, gripping it tightly. "What happened to you… I can never really know or understand what happened to you. But I know it was more than just 'painful.' You forget, I saw you after they cut—" his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "After they cut off your wings. I saw what they did to you. I watched you after."

I didn't remember what happened to me after. I remembered waking up in Stark's home, being disoriented, not knowing what year it was, cutting my hair, almost jumping off the building… "I don't understand."

"You don't remember." Steve sighed and pressed both his hands against his eyes, shaking his head. "You were begging us to let you die."

My shoulders sagged, and I curled into a tighter ball, letting my wings act as a cocoon. I hurt Steve. I couldn't imagine seeing him like that—what had it cost him to see _me_ like that?And if he hadn't even remembered me until right before… how had it not broken him?

"I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling a tear drop down my cheek.

"Don't be." I could see Steve now, illuminated by the moonlight that had been steadily moving across the floor. His muscles were tense, bulging as he leaned forward. "It wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault. I'm going to find him." He looked up at me, and I was shocked to see that tears were glistening in his eyes. "You're going to be happy again, Katie. I promise."

I slid off the bed and moved to rest beside him, leaning my head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around me. "I love you, Steve," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. For a moment, just a moment, I could imagine that no time had passed. I imagined that Steve and I were on the floor in our apartment in Brooklyn, back in the 40s before he and James had enlisted the army. For a moment, I imagined that I _was_ happy, that I hadn't known the pain that had grown to highlight every aspect of my life.

He pressed a kiss to my temple. "I love you too, kiddo."

 **#####**

"When can I leave?" I asked Clint, leaning over the top of the captain's chair to speak to him.

He glanced over his shoulder at the others, muting his headset and making sure no one was eavesdropping before replying. "Whenever you want, really," he answered quietly. "Realistically, though, waiting till this war is over would be better for the team."

"For the team," I repeated softly. But not for me. I glanced back at my brother and Natasha, the only other team members who were here. Bruce and Tony had gone to work out some other problem, and Thor… I had no idea where he was. But neither my brother nor Natasha had to worry about the people they cared about—the only people they knew and loved were here with them. Clint and I were the only two who had families at risk.

"Yeah, for the team," he sighed heavily, tapping a finger restlessly against his armrest. I knew how much he missed his family, how much he hated the idea that this could be the last time he saw them. I knew how he felt because I felt the same way. I could barely breathe at times—it was like an invisible band was wrapped around my chest, tightening every time I thought about James. "Sometimes we can't do what's best for _us_. We know that Ultron's trying to take over the world. Now, I don't know what that means exactly, whether he's trying to destroy the planet or kill everyone on it, but I do know that this fight isn't one we can lose. We lose, we die. Our families die. Our friends die. I know you want to leave, Katie." He reached over and squeezed my hand. "I know you want to see him, have a future with him. But if we can't stop this guy, there won't be any future to hold onto. It'll all be gone."

"I'll stay until the fight is finished," I swore, staring out the front window of the quinjet. We were speeding towards Seoul as fast as possible: Bruce had been unable to reach Helen Cho and had assumed the worst. "I'll make sure everyone is safe. But after that, I'm gone."

"Does your brother know?" Clint asked curiously, glancing back to where Steve was strapped into his seat, nodding off. After our conversation the night before, I had gone to sleep—but Steve hadn't. I woke up a few times during the night, like I had trained myself to do for years, and had seen the moon reflected in his eyes as he stared at the ceiling or out the window. He was awake and out of the room when I got up in the morning.

"No. He doesn't know that I've spoken to James Barnes since nineteen forty-five," I murmured, making sure to differentiate between James and the winter Soldier.

"How will you tell him?" my friend asked. "In person? Phone call? Email? Letter?"

I winced at the thought. Telling him in person would never work: he'd rant at me, scold me for putting my life in danger and for lying to him, and either forbid me to go or follow me there himself. Neither were good options. A phone call was traceable, as were emails. A letter… it seemed too impersonal. "I don't know."

Clint switched on his headset, ending the conversation. "We're coming up on Doctor Cho's building, Cap," he called. I grinned as my brother jolted awake, ignoring Natasha's murmured comment about 'senior citizens, always nodding off.'

"Drop me off on the roof," Steve called, fastening his helmet on. He picked up his shield and slung it across his back. "And keep an eye out for the enhanced. I don't want to be surprised."

"Sure thing, Cap."

Moments later Steve jumped from the plane, falling several stories before landing on his feet and bolting inside.

 _"_ _Two minutes. Stay close. Remember the plan."_ Steve spoke into my ear as clearly as though he were standing over my shoulder. _"Any sign of the enhanced, Katie gets sent in. Clint, Tasha, you—"_ he stopped talking abruptly, murmuring several expletives instead of real words. _"Doctor Cho!"_

"Steve?" I pressed a finger to my earpiece, worried, and jumped to my feet, almost falling over when Clint banked hard to the left. "Steve, are you okay?"

Doctor Cho's weak voice could be head over the comms system. _"He's uploading himself into the body."_

Steve sounded frantic—she had to be hurt badly. _"Where?"_

 _"_ _The real power is inside the cradle,"_ she explained, her words punctuated by gasps of pain as she struggled to draw breath. _"The gem—its power is uncontainable. You can't just blow it up—You have to get the cradle to Stark."_

 _"_ _First I have to find it,"_ Steve muttered to himself.

 _"_ _Go,"_ she panted.

Steve's voice sounded again, much louder than it had before—looked like he was including us in the conversation once more. _"Did you guys copy that?"_

"We did," Clint nodded.

Natasha glanced up from her tablet. "I got a private jet taking off, across town, no manifest. That could be him."

"It's too far away," I countered, shaking my head. "There's no way they could've gotten wind of us coming so quickly."

Clint interrupted us. "There. It's the truck from the lab. Right above you, Cap. On the loop by the bridge." Clint squinted, looking at a sort of radar-imaging, and nodded. "It's them. I got three with the cradle, one in the cab. I could take out the driver," he suggested.

" _Negative! If that truck crashes, the gem could level the city. We need to draw out Ultron."_

"What do you think you're doing?!" I practically shrieked, watching as my brother darted across a road—narrowly avoiding being hit by a large car—and leapt off the bridge. He landed on the roof of the truck, which was incredibly fortunate considering he hadn't bothered to see where it was before taking his leap of faith, and tumbled backwards. He latched onto the back doors and tried to force them open—until Ultron blasted them open himself.

 _"_ _Drawing him out,"_ Steve muttered, yelling as his door slammed into the side of the vehicle, almost knocking him off. _"Well, he's definitely unhappy!"_ Steve shouted, almost falling from the truck—he was now being dragged almost behind it on one of the mangled doors. _"I'm gonna try and keep him that way."_

"You're not a match for him, Cap," Clint warned my brother, wincing as I turned my burning gaze on him and smacked the back of his head. He held up a hand in surrender, keeping the other on the controls. "Jeez, Katie."

 _"_ _Thanks, Barton,"_ Steve panted sarcastically.

Natasha made her way to the underside of the quinjet as I strapped myself in beside Clint, eyeing the fight with trepidation. I was _not_ losing a brother today. The doors beneath the quinjet opened.

"We got a window," Clint called back to Natasha. "Four, three...give 'em hell."

She dropped from the jet on a motorbike and began speeding towards Steve and Ultron, weaving around pedestrians and shopping stalls with ease.

"They're heading under the overpass, I've got no shot," Clint complained loudly, keeping one eye on Natasha and the other on the fight.

" _Find_ one," I bit out, scanning the streets for my brother.

 _"_ _Which way?"_ Natasha shouted. I winced, jerking away from the sudden sound.

"Hard right... Now."

I could see the truck again—Steve wasn't doing very well. He didn't have his shield either, which was a problem. He wasn't even _on the truck_ —he was on the road, narrowly avoiding being apart of the wreckage of a terrible car accident. I couldn't tell how many people were injured, but it didn't look good.

 _"_ _Clint, can you draw out the guards?"_

He shrugged. "Let's find out." He immediately sent the plane spiraling upwards, forcing Ultron's clones to follow. I gripped my armrests with white hands, squeezing my eyes shut. I loved to fly—but not in giant metal containers where I had to feel the negative effects of g-force and airsickness.

"Let's not do that again," I ground out. The iron legion bots turned on a dime, heading back towards the fight and ignoring us completely. I reached for the buckle holding me in place. _That's my cue._ "Open the door."

Clint glanced over at me, worried. "But—"  
"Now!"

He obeyed, swearing under his breath, and I undid the straps, flying backwards and falling from the plane. I twisted in midair and began flying at breakneck speed towards the ground, feeling a smile spread across my face as wind-caused tears streamed back into my hair. _This. This is what I was made to do._

"Steve!" I called, pulling up and following after the truck.

 _"_ _Could use some help,"_ he panted.

I sped towards the truck, surging forward as Steve and Ultron plowed through the side of the nearby train, tearing apart the compartment. I managed to land inside a moment later, cutting my arm on one of the jagged strips of metal that stuck out from the car.

 _"_ _I'm heading in,"_ Natasha said. _"Cap, can you keep 'em occupied?"_

Steve accepted by arm as I pulled him to his feet, breathing heavily. "What do you think I've been doing?"

I grabbed my brother's shield and caught the brunt of Ultron's next strike. The energy behind the hit send me crashing back into the wall, and Steve picked up his shield again.

"Knives don't work on him," I panted in response to the semi-amused look he sent my way. "What was I supposed to use?"

"Your strength?" he suggested, grunting as he ducked beneath the robot's arm.

"Right." I leapt forward and punched the robot between the shoulder blades. It recoiled as the metal buckled beneath my fist and it grabbed my arm, twisting it back. I screamed in pain, kicking off the ground in an attempt to free myself, and its other hand grabbed hold my ankle, releasing my arm as it squeezed—I felt something crack—and threw me across the compartment.

My eyes squeezed shut as I tried to curl into a ball and absorb the hit—but I didn't hit the ground or wall like I had expected myself to. Instead I was being held in someone's arms—not by my brother, as I had suspected, but by the enhanced boy: Pietro.

I was too surprised to move—or slap him—like I wanted to. "What the hell?"

"You keep picking fights," he muttered, giving me a small smile. "Try choosing targets who don't hit back so hard." When I didn't answer, he turned hit attention to the _very large_ threat in the room.

I looked around, surprised and scared. Pietro's wild-eyed sister stood across from me, near my _brother_ , and in that moment I battled a range of emotions ranging from murderous rage to paralyzing fear. Ultron moved towards Pietro, who placed me on the ground and pushed me back behind him protectively, but the girl—Wanda—sent the rails clashing together, blocking his way.

Ultron looked between the two enhanced. "Please. Don't do this."

"What choice do we have?" Wanda growled, not dropping her defensive stance. Ultron sent a blast of energy towards me—Pietro forced me out of the way, landing almost on top of me when we fell—and then flew out of the train, leaving the four enhanced to battle it out in the train compartment.

Clint was in my ear. _"Nat! Cap, Valkyrie, you see Nat?"_

"If you have the package, get it to Stark! Go!" Steve shouted instead,

 _"_ _Do you have eyes on Nat?"_ Clint shouted instead.

"Go!" Steve yelled instead, hurrying down the length of the train towards the front.

"Steve—" I shook my head in disbelief as I hobbled after my brother, biting my tongue to keep from crying out in pain. We couldn't just leave her. She was my friend, and I—I owed her. For everything I had and hadn't done all those years ago at the Red Room. I owed her.

"We don't have time for this, Katie." The front of the train was in shambles: the controls were in pieces, the driver dead. Steve looked up at the twins who had followed us up here. "Civilians in our path." Pietro nodded and sped off, then Steve turned to Wanda. "Can you stop this thing?"

I stared out the front, feeling utterly and completely useless as the twins and my brother slowed the train, managing to get all civilians out of the way of danger. The train finally stopped, and I jumped off, limping and clinging to every sturdy object I could find to keep from actually walking.

Pietro Maximoff was doubled over, breathing heavily. He waved his sister off when she approached him, shaking his head. "I'm fine. I just need to take a minute."

"I'm very tempted not to give you one." Steve wrapped an arm around my waist as I clasped onto his shoulders, taking my weight off my likely broken or sprained or destroyed ankle.

"The cradle, did you get it?" Wanda asked urgently.

Steve waved her off, setting me down on a crate beside Pietro. "Stark will take care of it."

Wanda's eyes scanned my brother's. "No, he won't," she shook her head, her eyes widening fearfully.

Steve stared at her for a few seconds before shaking his head. "You don't know what you're talking about, Stark's not crazy."

"He will do _anything_ to make things right," she argued, nearly stamping her foot in frustration.

Steve glanced around for a moment, apparently decided that checking with the others couldn't hurt anything at this point, and spoke into his communicator. "Stark, come in. Stark. Anyone on comms?"

I listened through mine. Radio silence, my favorite.

"Ultron can't tell the difference between saving the world and destroying it," Wanda continued. "Where do you think he gets that?"

Steve moved away, still trying to get ahold of someone on comms, and I let out a sharp breath, unable to hold my tongue any longer. "Perhaps he learned it from you," I bit out, glaring unabashed at the young woman before me.

She turned, hearing me, and her eyes glowed red for a moment. I tensed, baring my teeth. I stood, swaying slightly, and reached out for the nearest solid object, which happened to be Pietro. He didn't move, instead letting me use him as a crutch. He didn't try to cut me off either, instead choosing to watch and listen.

"Have care how you speak," she growled, her eyes narrowing. Her hands twitched as a glowing red aura surrounded them, and my wings rose up in response. I felt a faint pressure on my wrists and upper arms as though the girl were around to restrain me, and I growled at her. "I am stronger than you think."

"Be careful who you threaten, girl," I snarled, leaning forward. The invisible restrains tightened, holding me in place. Steve had moved further away, not paying attention to what was going on between the three of us. Wanda moved closer, examining me curiously, and her hand rose as though about to rest on my temple.

I jerked away, unable to bite back to cry of pain than escaped my lips as weight fell on my ankle. "Going to mess with my head again?" I meant it as a taunt, but my voice cracked, betraying the underlying fear I felt. Please, not again. I can't see it again.

Wanda blinked, and her eyes faded back to blue. Her anger drained away, replaced by recognition and sadness. "No. I remember you now." She moved back, releasing me from her spell or whatever she had used to hold me in place. I fell back, her brother keeping me from collapsing, and sat heavily against the crate once more. "You were a prisoner of Hydra a couple years ago."

"Yes."

"I did not recognize you with your wings," she glanced at them. "You are doing better than you were then."

"No thanks to you."

"I didn't know it was you—"

"I don't _care!_ "

"Enough." Pietro shook his head, frowning at me. "Let her say her part."

"No." I shook my head, fighting back tears. " _No._ Do you have any idea what you did to me?!" My voice rose to a scream, and Steve jerked around, worried. "What you made me feel? What you made me _see—_ " I choked, unable to breathe. "My husband bled out in my arms. I watched my brother die, I _held him—_ " I pointed to Steve, who was hurriedly making his way back towards us— "My _brother—_ after he got shot trying to save me _._ I felt them cut off my wings, felt every damn second, every bit of pain all over again!" Tears rolled down my cheeks.

Wanda's skin, already pale, had turned almost gray. She shook her head, and her dark hair fell into her face. She brushed it away with shaking hands. "I didn't know it was you," she repeated, her voice a whisper. "I told you I would stay out of your head, and I meant it. I didn't know it was you."

"You promised to stay out of my head because you'd already seen how messed up I am," I snarled. "And now, thanks to you, I'm worse off than I was before Hydra got ahold of me!"

"I didn't—"

"Katie, that's enough." Steve's hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "That's enough." Wanda turned away, hugging herself. Steve sighed and moved over to her, not comforting her, exactly, but talking to her, likely explaining the situation with more tact than I had.

Pietro leaned down to speak softly to me, his words biting. "There was a time when you were willing to do _anything_ to get revenge on the people responsible for taking your family away," he reminded me. I tensed. "Don't forget that."

"I'm not that person anymore," I murmured, fighting back resentment at being reminded of my failure, of the actions that had snowballed into my being experimented on and tortured and brainwashed.

"Because you were given a second chance. My sister has not had one yet."

"I didn't do _this_ to people. I didn't make them see what they feared most."

"Maybe not. But you killed them." I stiffened. "You tortured them. You did everything in your power—including going after family members—in an attempt to wipe them out."

"How do you know about that?" my lips were barely moving. I was trembling. How did this man know about that? It was one of the things I regretted most, one of the few things I truly hated myself for. I hadn't hurt young children or wives, but… I had used them as leverage, and I had killed people. How did Pietro—Hydra. Of course. They would have records of what I'd done, what I'd become.

"She may have shown you what you feared," Pietro ignored my question as he pulled back, and I saw Steve and Wanda watching me carefully. "But you made their fears a reality."


	23. Chapter 23

Steve's presence was the only thing that kept me from outright attacking Pietro then and there. That, and the knowledge that I would be utterly demolished in said fight: super-human strength didn't get very far when your opponent moved faster than sound.

"Katherine." Steve glanced over at me from his co-pilot seat beside me.

I shook my head sharply, flipping switches with much more force than was necessary. The jet, one of the few connections I had left in regard to SHIELD, was far faster than a normal plane and would hopefully reach New York in about six hours time—far less time than the usual fourteen to fifteen hour flight time. At this point, we had a few hours left to go. " _Don't._ I can't stay. Not while they're here." I glared back over my shoulder at the twins, both of whom were watching us warily. Pietro's expression was hard, but Wanda's was regretful.

"I know you're angry about what you saw."

I scoffed, my eyes narrowing as I looked straight ahead at the clouds in an attempt to keep from crying again. That was a huge understatement. The last person I'd wanted to kill as badly as I had wanted to kill Wanda was Grant Ward, and he had _reset_ _me_ in an attempt to capture James.

"I am too. You forget that you're not the only one who was effected. The whole team was attacked, not just you."

"And none of you, save Bruce, are still dealing with the after effects, are you?" I asked bitterly, shutting off my headset to cut the twins off from the conversation.

"I am." His breathing hitched, and he swallowed. "You never went to see Peggy, did you?"

I closed my eyes as guilt tightened my chest. "I meant to. I was going to see her the day after the party, but…" I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself. "Ultron attacked, and…"

"You haven't seen her," Steve whispered. "Every time she sees me, she—" he cleared his throat. "She has Alzheimer's. Every time she sees me, she starts crying—because she doesn't remember finding me in the ice. She doesn't remember all the times I've visited her."

I couldn't look him in the eye. "So when you saw her in your dream—?"

"We danced." A weak smile flickered across his lips as his shoulders sagged.

 _"Peggy..." Steve started._

 _"I'm here."_

 _"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."_

 _She took a shaky breath, trembling. "All right. A week next Saturday at The Stork Club."_

 _"You got it."_

 _"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?"_

 _"You know, I still don't know how to dance."_

 _"I'll show you how," she said softly, a pleading note in her voice, "Just be there."_

 _"We'll have the band play something slow," Steve said. "I'd hate to step on your—"_

I remember. I had been there listening over Peggy's shoulder. I ran away when Steve died. I knew how much Peggy meant to him, how much Steve meant to her. I knew how badly it must hurt him for her to have forgotten him. "Steve," I whispered, covering my mouth with my left hand and taking his with my right. "I'm so sorry."

"You're not the only one who's hurting," my brother murmured, staring down into his lap. "We all have to make sacrifices. We all have to _forgive_ sometimes, even when it's hard. You made similar mistakes to what she did." He jerked his head back, motioning towards Wanda. "You were given a second chance—so give her one."  
I spent the next hour or so in frustrated silence, just staring out the front window. It wasn't that I didn't want to forgive Wanda—I still was on the fence about that—but more than that, I was still struggling with the fact that I had never been forgiven. There was a big difference between being told that something wasn't your fault and being told that you had been _forgiven_.

Steve didn't seem to understand that.

My brother, despite his original physical maladies, had always been the better of the two of us. He had been kind, compassionate, thoughtful. He had been the one to defend the weak, fight against bullies, put on the uniform and fight for his country. I had been rash, fiery, _angry_. I grew up without a father. My mom died when I was still a kid. I grew up watching my brother being bullied for being different. I grew up trying to defend him—even at four years old, I tried to defend him. It wasn't until James came charging into our lives that I saw that other children weren't as bad as I'd originally thought. James had been one of my only friends for _years_. It was amazing, now that I think about it, that we ended up together. I hadn't thought that childhood friends normally got married—even if we weren't technically married yet.

Anyway. I wasn't like my brother. I didn't think things through. I went charging into a Hydra facility more than once: the first time to rescue James, the second to try and rid the world of Hydra, the third to rescue Simmons… Not _one_ attempt worked out well for me. I was too brash, too angry. So often, I was willing to sacrifice anything to get revenge, to get justice. More often than not, it wasn't worth it. The ends didn't justify the means.

Steve at least tried to think things through. Maybe not when he was younger, back when he would pick fights with everything that moved, but now? He always had a plan. He understood the burden of responsibility like I never had. He was able to forgive and see past betrayals and darkness to the person underneath.

I wasn't like him. I could rarely if ever forgive people who'd betrayed me on a deep level. I didn't come up with plans. I didn't know how to act responsibly, not like he did—I wasn't a leader. I was, deep down, still a kid. I had never really had the chance to mature. I had been forced to face death and pain faster than most. I had been a weapon, a toy, for years. Once I was free of it, I was essentially kept in solitary for two decades more. I was still amazed that I wasn't entirely insane. I still picked fights, I still rushed into things, I still… I was still angry.

And maybe it was time to change that.

I stood up, passing control of the jet over to my brother, and moved back into the back of the plane. Pietro was awake, watching me with clear eyes as his sister napped on his shoulder. I sat down a couple seats down from him, crossing my legs on top of the seat and resting my hands on my knees.

"I'm sorry for how I acted earlier," I apologized, holding his gaze. "I shouldn't have yelled at your sister."

 _"_ _Vy pravy, vy ne dolzhny byli etogo delat',"_ he muttered, glancing away angrily.

 _You're right, you shouldn't have done that._ My eyes narrowed. _"Which is why I'm apologizing,"_ I bit out in Russian, watching him closely, gauging his reaction.

Pietro's eyes widened, and he nodded slowly as though in agreement. "You speak Russian?" he asked. I nodded. "I would not have guessed."

"I learned it while Hydra held me prisoner."

Pietro's expression turned sober. "Ah. I remember."

"I don't."

He looked over at me, confused, and I kept talking. I stared past his shoulder out the front window, not noticing when his sister began to stir.

"I don't remember learning Russian," I continued. "I don't remember escaping, either. I remember being caught." I chuckled humorlessly, noticing with a twinge of sadness that Steve reached up to silence his headset. "I remember being drugged, being dragged before whatever bastard was in charge of breaking me. I remember being broken," I breathed, rubbing my thumb over a jagged scar that ran left from the center of my left palm, tearing back through tissue and tendons until it reached the base of my thumb on the back of the same hand.

When the Diviner returned my wings, it also erased all previous scars from my body, healing me of whatever wounds or injuries or scars I had received since being turned into the Angel of Death. Had I been missing an arm or leg, I had little doubt that it would have grown back. This particular scar, however, had been present since early 1945. When I reached to stop James from falling, I had lost my balance, almost falling from the train myself. I threw my hand out to stop myself, and a piece of shrapnel had torn through my hand. The wound had served as a painful reminder of the day—it still did. For some reason, it hadn't been restored like all the others had. This and two others—a thin, vertical, white line at the base of my nose from when I fell and hit a coffee table when I was seven, and a large burn scar on my ankle from when I was caught in an explosion in 1943—still remained.

"I did many things I am ashamed of," I murmured, "Many more than I am able to remember."

"I read your file," Pietro interrupted. "You were forced to kill, to hurt people. You did not freely choose to obey. You did not know."

I shrugged dropping my gaze. "I know. But I still did it. Your sister… she messed with my mind." I let out a weak laugh. " _Severely_ messed with it. What she showed me…" I trailed off, shaking my head, and Pietro interrupted.

"She told me what she made you see," he spoke softly. "It is one reason why we are here now. She didn't know she knew you already: she didn't recognize you. When she saw your fear, how it was so similar to her own… She had nightmares afterwards. She regretted entering and toying with your mind."

I swallowed hard. "I understand."

"You understand," he repeated flatly, lifting a dark eyebrow. "That is why you exploded earlier, then. Because you understood."

"I've done some pretty horrible things in my lifetime," I answered bluntly, staring over Pietro's shoulder with a furrowed brow. "I know what it's like to carry burdens too heavy for _anyone_ to bear." I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Which is why I am offering her a second chance."

"How generous," he stated dryly. The young man's light eyes flickered between mine, and his brow furrowed. "You don't think she deserves it," Pietro tried to clarify.

I let out a snort of laughter, shaking my head and ruffling my feathers. " _I_ didn't deserve it." I composed myself, taking a deep breath. "I'm tired of being angry. I've spent too long hating people for how they've wronged me, how they've hurt me. Hate… it doesn't help. It only corrupts. I've seen what it's done to others, and I've seen what it's done to me. I don't want to be controlled by it anymore—" I reached out and touched the young man's hand. "And I don't want it to control you, either. Either of you."

Pietro and I sat in silence for almost a full minute, both processing what had just happened. My shoulders and heart both felt lighter, almost as if a very real burden had been lifted from them.

"Not many are willing to do what you have just done," Wanda Maximoff commented seriously, sitting up and watching me with wide blue eyes. I turned my head sharply to look at her, startled by her sudden words. "Thank you."

I offered her a small smile. "You once told me that we weren't enemies," I reminded her softly.

"I did." She nodded, and her expression turned sad. "I apologize once more: I did not know it was you I was attacking. If I had known—"

"It's over." I took her hand, squeezing it gently. "I forgive you. It's okay."

I couldn't believe how light I felt, how… freeing it was to be able to let go of my anger for good. I still held a bit of resentment—it was impossible to forget James's face as he collapsed into me—because of the pain she had caused me, but Pietro's reminder stuck. I had caused pain, more than Wanda ever had or could. It was time to let it go.

The young woman before me looked utterly astonished. How much guilt did she carry? How many people had Ultron convinced her to hurt? I was willing to bet that none of them had issued a very large thank you in the last few days, so… how must it feel to be forgiven?

"Katie." Steve looked over his shoulder, his expression grim.

I hurried up front to join him. "What's wrong?"

"Stark isn't answering on comms," he bit out, glancing at the controls.

"Bruce?"

"No."

Surely at least one team member would have the foresight to answer their call. "Clint?"

"Clint answered briefly, told me he couldn't talk, and hung up," Steve ground out, shaking his head. "Something's wrong."

I sagged back into my seat and rubbed my eyes with shaking hands. "Wonderful."

"Hey." Steve reached out and took my hand, squeezing it. "It'll be okay."

"Is something wrong?" Wanda leaned forward in her seat, watching us in concern.

I took a deep breath before facing her. _"You may not have been completely wrong about Tony,"_ I told her in Russian, leaving Steve out of the loop.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. _"I do not understand."_

 _"_ _Stark has a large heart,"_ I explained. _"He wants to protect those he cares about."_ I motioned to my brother and I, and the twins nodded. _"He just doesn't know how to go about it the right way."_

Pietro shook his head. _"That's what we've been trying to tell you."_

 _"_ _No, you were trying to destroy us."_ I shrugged. _"Water under the bridge."_

 _"_ _No, not 'water under the bridge.'"_ Pietro shook his head again, and Wanda nodded firmly. _"We are sorry we allowed for this to happen."_

 _"_ _I know."_

 _"_ _And we will not allow it to happen again."_

Wanda spoke—but not aloud. Her words appeared in my head, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming and leaping from my seat in shock. _'You protected us.'_ Pietro nodded, which likely meant that his sister's words were in his mind as well. _'And we will protect you.'_

Steve glanced over at me as I nodded solemnly to the twins. A pit formed in my stomach. Anyone who tried to protect me… something always happened to them. "Katie. English, please."

I swore softly, taking a deep breath. "I just wish I knew why this was happening." I glanced up at Steve.

His grip on the controls tightened. "We'll know soon enough."

~8~

"…this framework is not compatible," Tony's voice echoed from the upper floors, and I sped up. I followed on the heels of my brother and Wanda, not making a sound, and Pietro kept close to my side, honoring his promise of protection. For once, he was moving at a normal speed.

"The genetic coding tower's at ninety-seven percent." I started up the stairs as Bruce began speaking, the cool metal rail soothing the blisters on my palms. "You have _got_ to upload that schematic in the next three minutes."

"I'm gonna say this once," Steve barked, stopping short upon entering the lab.

"How about 'nonce'?" Tony snarked back, glaring at my brother. Bruce glanced up, worried, but his expression turned dark when his gaze landed on the twins.

"Shut it _down_!"

"Nope, not gonna happen," Tony shook his head, going back to work.

"You don't know what you're doing," I cut in, taking a step forward. My hands itched to take hold of my knives, but it would be a horrible idea—to attack Tony outright would sow the seeds of discord among the team. It wasn't my place to do that, not when I knew that the other teammates would immediately start taking sides.

"And you do?" Bruce interrupted, glaring murderously at Wanda. He gestured between the two of us condescendingly. "She's not in your head?"

The young woman took a step forward. "I know you're angry," she tried to calm him down.

My friend shook his head. "Oh, we're way past that. I could choke the life out of you and never change a shade." The cold way he spoke terrified me, sending chills down my spine. Suddenly I didn't see the man I knew, the man who'd protected me and saved my life all those years ago. I saw a man out for blood, a man who in an instant could transform into a creature even I couldn't fight.

"Bruce, please—" I was begging him to calm down, to listen. "You listened to Tony before, and look where that's got us. If you both hadn't tried to create Ultron in the first place—"

"Banner, after everything that's happened—" Steve tried to reason.

"—this never would have happened!" I raised my voice, gesturing wildly with my hands.

"That's nothing compared to what's coming!" Tony cut in, yelling at Steve.

I switched targets, seeing that Bruce was unmoving and hoping that Tony would just _listen to me._ "Tony, see reason! You cannot possibly think that giving Ultron what he wants will end well!" I shouted, trying and failing to capture his attention. He was locked in verbal combat with my brother, both trying to shout the other down.

We were running out of time and options. I turned my head, looking up at the silver-haired young man who already was staring down at me. He lifted a dark eyebrow, glancing over at the cradle.

"It's almost ready," he warned me softly, his words reaching me despite the yelling filling the room. "And they will not listen."

I took a deep breath. "I know."

"You don't know what's in there!" Wanda pointed a shaking finger at the cradle.

"This isn't a game!" Steve bellowed.

Pietro arched an eyebrow questioningly, tilting his head towards the machine. I nodded. It was the only way. "Go."

Wanda kept trying to communicate the horrors she had seen. "The creature…!"

The young man vanished from my side, and a silver wind swept across the lab, leaving a flurry of sparks in its wake. Pietro reappeared moments later on the other side of the room. He had completely disconnected the machine, and he threw down a handful of cables as he spoke, sounding disgusted. "No, no. Go on." He caught my eye, tilting his head as though in a small bow, a smile curving at his lips. "You were saying?"

Before the last word left his tongue, the glass beneath his feet shattered. He fell through to the floor below as the bullet ricocheted off the ceiling. I leapt forward, Wanda's cry aching in my ears. "Pietro!"

"You didn't see that coming?" Clint chuckled. I couldn't see him, but seeing as how Pietro hadn't reappeared, I gathered that he was being held either at gun or arrow point.

"Clint, stop!" I took a step towards the hole but stopped when alarms began to sound.

Tony moved. "I'm rerouting the upload—"

Without a moment's hesitation, Steve threw his shield, destroying any chance of reestablishing the uplink. Stark reacted, immediately shot a bolt of energy straight into my brother's chest, sending him flying backwards through the glass walls of the lab.

"Steve!"

As soon as O knew he was alive, I leapt towards Tony, my knives already appearing in my hands. No one, _no one,_ hurt my brother. Tony dodged me, gaining a few seconds and more pieces of his armor. I slashed down, missing Tony but managing to sever several more cables.

Bruce took advantage of the distraction to grab Wanda from behind, forcing her into a headlock. "Go ahead, piss me off," he snarled.

Stark earned the rest of his armor but held back, avoiding using his blasters on me. Steve reappeared in the fray, working alongside me as we fought Tony, forcing him away from the cradle. If we just managed to get to it—

Everyone else was occupied, and I could handle Tony on my own, at least for a few seconds, long enough to provide ample distraction—

"Steve, destroy it!" I batted away Tony's arm with my wing, forcing his shot to go through the ceiling. Pieces of plaster and concrete rained down around us. "Go!"

"No!" Tony moved, but I shoved him back, slamming my fist into his armor. He staggered back, wheezing, staring down at the large dent that probably was affecting his breathing. "Okay," he growled.

He jumped forward, faster than I could avoid, and caught me by the throat, sending me to the ground. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe. God, I couldn't breathe.

I thrashed, digging my fingers into the chinks of his armor, but otherwise I was pinned, helpless—the last time I had been in this position, the Winter Soldier had been about to drag me back to Hydra. That particular memory did nothing to quell the panic building up within me. I tried to kick but couldn't move my legs, pinned as they were under Tony's armor. My vision was blurring. My lips parted as I tried in vain to get even the smallest breath of air into my burning lungs. Tony lifted an arm to blast Steve out of his way, but I grabbed it, holding him back.

"Katie, _stop!_ You don't know what you're doing," Tony grunted, trying and failing to tear his arm free from my grip. I tightened my hold on both his arms even as I felt the energy leaving my body. Everything was slowing down: movement, sound, feeling. My lungs were on fire, struggling to expand. I jerked my head, trying to get away, but Stark wouldn't let go. Tears started streaming down my face as I clenched my teeth, and an animalistic gasp escaped my lips as I released the held that held my throat. With my free hand, I struck at Tony's suit, trying to destroy the reactor—if I could just break it, shut it down—I was too weak, I had lost too much energy already—

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Steve abandon his quest and turn towards me, his eyes wide and horrified—

Thor appeared in the room, landing atop the cradle, but black spots swirled across my vision, distorting his features—

Tony tightened his grip, trying to break away from me, and my right hand slipped from his arm and fell limply to the ground—

There was a blinding flash of light as Thor held up his hammer, but it was growing dimmer by the second—

The lightning vanished, the room went silent, and my vision went black.


	24. Chapter 24

My eyes flew opened, and I gasped for breath, groaning and coughing and choking on the dust that filled the air. The scene around me bucked and rolled, and I collapsed to the floor, my shaking arms unable to support my weight. The twins appeared at my side, apparently having adopted me as one of their own in the last few hours. Pietro helped me to sit up, encouraging me to breathe as his sister wrapped her arms around his neck. Pietro took me into his arms.

"Hold on."

A moment later we were standing in the living room. I groaned weakly, curling into a ball. Now, on top of being unable to breathe, I felt like I was going to throw up or pass out. Pietro set me down gently on the couch while Wanda moved forward to watch what was happening—What _was_ happening?

I blinked, willing the blurry scene to come into focus, and was so confused by what I saw that I almost gave up and passed out again. A red and silver man with a glowing yellow stone set in his forehead was speaking to Thor. Funnily enough, it didn't rank in the top ten oddest things that had happened to me.

"…Stark is right," Thor said, glancing around at the others.

"Oh, it's definitely the end times," Bruce muttered.

Steve rushed to my side the instant he saw me, his fingers brushing against my throat. His gaze darkened murderously, and the hand holding mine tightened painfully. "I'm gonna to kill him," he growled.

"The Avengers cannot defeat Ultron," Thor continued, sending me a worried glance.

"Not alone," the creature agreed.

"Why does your 'vision' sound like JARVIS?" Steve bit out, turning his head to look at the others. Clint swore when he saw me and strode forward to examine my neck, muttering obscenities under his breath.

"Are you alright?" Clint whispered hoarsely. My ears were ringing, making it difficult to understand, and my mind was groggy and slow. I shook my head slowly.

"We…we reconfigured JARVIS's matrix to create something new," Tony explained, sounding stunned.

"Can you talk?" Clint asked softly. I shook my head, biting my tongue to keep from crying out. I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe, for crying out loud.

"I think I've had my fill of _new_ ," Steve practically spat the word.

The creature took a step forward, his intelligent eyes flickering to me for a moment. "You think I'm a child of Ultron?"

My brother stood up, partially blocking me from its view. "You're not?"

The creature, the vision, shook his head. "I'm not Ultron. I'm not JARVIS. I am...I _am_."

"I looked in your head and saw annihilation," Wanda growled, glaring distrustfully at the man before her. Pietro glanced up at his sister, then over at me. For a brief moment, his hands left me shoulders, and then he was back, a bag of ice in his hand.

The vision bowed his head in submission, looking at her with an emotion I couldn't place. "Look again."

"Yeah. Her seal of approval means jack to me," Clint spoke up, shaking his head angrily. Clearly he hadn't gotten over their attempts to control his mind, understandable, and shoot and nearly kill him. He _did_ seem to have warmed up to Pietro a little bit, though, thanks to the man's attempt to help me. Clint took the ice pack and pressed it gently against my throat.

Thor interrupted, taking the floor. "Their powers, the horrors in our heads, Ultron himself, they all came from the Mind Stone, and they're nothing compared to what it can unleash. But with it on our side—"

"Is it?" Steve cut him off, turning to face the vision. "Are you? On our side?"

The vision shook his head, his brow furrowing. "I don't think it's that simple."

"Well it better get real simple real soon," Clint snapped, touching a particularly painfully area of my throat. I whimpered and jerked away, and his eyes narrowed menacingly.

"I am on the side of life. Ultron isn't, he will end it all."

Tony was strategically keeping his back to me, avoiding looking me in the eye—or looking at me at all, really. "What's he waiting for?"

"You," the vision answered simply. I was unclear on whether he mean Tony alone or the entire team, but no one else voiced my confusion.

Bruce glanced at me, noticing for the first time the state I was in, and his eyes widened. "Where?"

"Sokovia," Clint answered. Wanda and Pietro stiffened, and I felt Wanda's fear flash through me. Sokovia was their home. "He's got Nat there too."

Bruce stepped forward, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he lowered his voice. "If we're wrong about you, if you're the monster that Ultron made you to be…" he trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

The vision shrank back slightly, and I was reminded of a child: unsure and confused and innocent. "What will you do?" He looked around at all of us, his gaze lingering for a moment on me, on the twins, on Clint. "I don't want to kill Ultron. He's unique, and he's in pain. But that pain will roll over the earth, so he must be destroyed." He looked sad, as though he didn't want to hurt anything but knew he must—for the greater good. "Every form he's built, every trace of his presence on the net, we have to act _now_. And not one of us can do it without the others."

Clint looked up, locking eyes with me, and I nodded shakily. I didn't want to work with Tony. The _last_ thing I wanted was the work with Tony, especially after he tried to strangle me. But I couldn't let the world burn. I couldn't let James die.

"Maybe I am a monster," the vision stared down at his hands. "I don't think I'd know if I were one. I'm not what you are, and not what you intended. So there may be no way to make you trust me. But we need to go."

As he finished speaking, he held us Thor's hammer. The entire room went _silent_. Everyone stared in shock at the creature that held up the hammer with such ease, an ease none but Thor and, unknown to anyone but myself, I had been able to achieve. Thor accepted his weapon as the Vision strode off.

He handled it awkwardly, glancing at me as he nodded. "Right." He patted Stark's shoulder as he passed him. "Well done."

Steve turned around the face the rest of the team. "Three minutes. Get what you need."

Tony made to hurry by, but Steve stopped him, forcing him to face him, and slammed his fist into the man's face. The force of the punch send Tony sprawling, but no one moved to help him up.

"If you _ever_ touch my sister again—" Steve started, practically snarling. Stark stood shakily, ignoring the bruising and swelling that was already beginning to show on his cheekbone.

"I wasn't planning on it," Stark interrupted, shaking his head. "I did what I had to do."

 _Great apology._ I let out a breath though my nose, unable to really open my mouth without feeling a tone of pain. The team watched in silence as he left the room, and Bruce followed a moment later.

"Are you alright?" Thor approached, still holding his hammer awkwardly.

I nodded, wincing at the movement, and then turned my gaze on Wanda. _'Can you hear me?'_ I thought, trying to push my thoughts into her mind. Her eyes flickered to mine, and she nodded minutely. _'Tell Steve I'm not sitting this one out.'_

"Um." All eyes turned to her, and she shifted uncomfortably, not used to being the center of attention. "Captain Rogers, your sister asked that I tell you that she is not sitting this one out," she informed him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

He immediately protested, as I knew he would. "You were just strangled," he argued, shaking his head. "No way—"

 _'_ _The world is about to end, and you want me to sit on the sidelines because my throat hurts?'_

Wanda relayed my message, and I shook my head as my brother sputtered various reasons why I shouldn't go.

 _'_ _I've fought through gunshot wounds and mind control. I've been burned, tortured, torn apart… I'm not going to sit out because my teammate's a little touchy.'_

Wanda relayed that thought haltingly, looking as though she'd rather be anywhere else.

 _'_ _You can't stop me,'_ I thought, frowning at him. _'I'll fly there if I have to.'_

"He _strangled_ you," Steve roared, making me jump. I had rarely seen him this angry, but I understood where his ire was coming from.

 _'_ _Yes, he did. But in his mind, he was trying to protect all of us. I got in his way. I may not be thrilled with him, but I understand why he did what he did.'_

Once Steve heard my words, he nodded, though I could see him grinding his teeth.

"Get what you need," he finally repeated. "We're leaving soon."

I went to my room and changed into a fresh suit—I had several, just incase some got torn or burned. I forewent my armor, choosing to arm myself once we were closer to Sokovia, but loaded my bag with as many weapons I could carry, along with a photo of James. It was one of the only pictures of him that I had, and I intended to keep it on me at all times, especially if this was my last day on earth.

Bruce took me to his lab and gave me something for the pain and swelling; I needed to be able to speak on this mission, and my healing wasn't quite fast enough to heal the bruises already peppering my throat.

I stood in the center of the quinjet five minutes later, waiting for the rest of the team. Tony apparently had made shaky amends with my brother, because the two of them were speaking relatively civilly by the entrance to the plane, Bruce right beside them.

"No way we all get through this," Tony murmured, glancing around. "If even one tin soldier's left standing, we've lost. It's gonna be blood on the floor."

My brother shrugged, and a small, sad smile lighted on his face as he glanced over at me. "I got no plans tomorrow night."

"I get first crack at the big guy. Iron Man's the one he's waiting for," Tony continued.

The vision strode past them and into the jet. "That's true, he hates you the most." Steve didn't seem very upset at the news.

I pulled my hair away from my face, braiding it back. I didn't want any distractions, not now. I took up my special seat, letting my wings rest against the ground as I buckled myself in.

The twins entered the plane, Clint on their tail, and sat down beside me. Clint and Thor took up seats on the other side of the jet, and Steve, Tony, and Clint sat up front, ready to pilot the thing. Bruce was in the corner as far away from Wanda as possible, still refusing to speak to anyone.

I pressed a comms device into my ear, activating it.

Steve looked around at the team as we took of, speeding towards Sokovia. "Ultron knows we're coming," he told us. "Odds are we'll be riding into heavy fire, and that's what we signed up for. But the people of Sokovia, they didn't. So our priority is getting them out. All they want is to live their lives in peace, and that's not going to happen today. But we can do our best to protect them, and we can get the job done. Find out what Ultron's been building. We find Romanoff, and we clear the field. Keep the fight between us." My brother looked down, his brow furrowing. "Ultron thinks… we're monsters, that we're what's wrong with the world." Bruce looked down, self loathing burning in his gaze. "This isn't just about beating him." Steve glanced at Tony, and his gaze hardened. "It's about whether he's right."

"Are you ready for this?" Pietro asked me softly, leaning forward so only he and his sister could hear.

I shook my head. The idea was laughable. No matter how many wars, battles, or fights I had been in, I'd never be ready. I'd never get used to the feeling of fear that encompassed my heart knowing I might never see the man I loved again. "No."

"Wanda said you were married," Pietro mentioned, tilting his head and glancing around the plane. "Where is your husband?"

My husband. I smiled at the thought, pressing my ring to my lips. Someday, maybe. "He's in hiding," I murmured, wincing at the pain that sparked through my neck. "We aren't married yet, though… um, we've been engaged since nineteen forty-four."

The young man's eyebrows disappeared into his hair, and I laughed. The sound dispelled some of the tension in the plane, and a few of the others shifted, starting their own conversations. I suppose that the file he read hadn't included my engagement, which I was grateful for. It was one less thing I needed to worry about: Hydra's knowledge of my relation to James. Then again… Garrett had known I had loved him. Perhaps Hydra did know about us.

"But I saw your wedding," Wanda leaned forward, curious.

"Your visions…" I frowned, shifting uncomfortably I remembered them. I swallowed, whimpering slightly, and brushed my fingers along the sensitive skin of my throat. "They created potential scenarios. The setting was my wedding, which hasn't happened. The characters were blurred except for my brother and fiancé."

"But the other parts of the dream," Wanda frowned, arguing back. "They were real."

Yeah, they were. Hydra cut off my wings. And the other…

"Yeah. One of them was," I murmured, twisting my seatbelt in my hands.

For a flicker of a moment I felt another presence in my head, and I jerked back, angry. _'GET OUT!'_

Wanda flinched away, shaking her head. "Your thoughts are too loud," she murmured. Then her gaze hardened, and she shook her head. "You're not telling the truth. A second event was real—" her featured softened when she realized what it was, and her lips parted. "Oh, Katie—"

I nodded jerkily, forcing back my anger as it rose in my throat, threatening to choke me as surely as Tony had. "Yeah. Yeah, you know why that shook me up? Why I didn't want you in my head?" My voice turned raspy; I had minutes before it gave completely.

I saw Steve glance back at me, concerned, but I ignored him. A few other gazes fell upon me, and the attention made my pain worse.

"Hydra couldn't get me to conform, not at first," I continued hoarsely. "Can you guess what they did?"

Wanda paled considerably and shook her head, unable to speak.

 _My cell door was open. Why was it open? I took a staggering step towards it, almost pitching forward onto the ground. My bloodied fingertips dug into the stone to keep upright, and a kernel of hope was kindled within me. I had a chance. I had a chance._

 _I took off as fast as I could, darting through any doors I came to. My bare feet made little noise on the concrete floors, but my heavy breathing echoed through the hallways. I didn't run into any soldiers, any members of Hydra. Why?_

 _I burst into another room, but this one was dark and had no doors. I skidded to a stop, making to turn around, but the door behind me slammed shut. The lights flickered on, revealing two tables in the center of the room. Each one held a body, and it took about five seconds before I realized who exactly was lying in front of me. Until that point, I stared in stunned terror at the two bloodied, mangled figures before me. Once realization hit, I started screaming, feeling as though someone had plunged me into a pool of ice water._

 _I felt my heart stop as my world shattered. I felt as though the earth had been yanked out from under my feet, felt as though the world had ended. The little flame of hope I had guarded for so long sputtered and died._

 _I scrambled back, my heart in my throat. "No," I croaked, shaking my head. "NO!" I started crying, shaking, sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe. I slid to the floor, curling into a ball in the corner, pressing my palms against my ears, rocking back and forth, trying to get the image out of my head—_

"They got inside my head. Or they got a shapeshifter, or did something to me, and they made me see him—" I pointed a shaky finger at my brother. "And they made me see James!"

 _Their bodies were there, mutilated almost beyond recognition. James's arm was missing, Steve—it looked as though they had been mauled, torn apart. Blood soaked the floors and sheets, and the metallic scent filled the air, invading my nostrils and clouding my mind. I shook my head wildly, pressing further into the wall, whimpering._

 _Their eyes were the only parts of their bodies that hadn't been slashed and destroyed._

 _And they were wide open._

Cold shivers made their way done my spine. "I had nightmares for weeks. Up until then, I held on to the hope that maybe, just _maybe_ , there was someone coming for me. That James survived the fall, that Steve would be found." My brother looked down, and I could see a tear making its way down his cheek. The rest of the team had fallen completely silent. "They took what little hope I had, and they crushed it. They broke me. I let them—" my voice broke, and I dug my nails into the backs of my hands. "I let them—" I croaked, shaking my head. I couldn't say it. Not our loud. "It wasn't until they introduced me to the Winter Soldier that something clicked, and I tried to fight back again." I turned my burning glare on the twins, more heartbroken that angry. "So yes. It was real. You made me relive two of the worst days of my life. Now you know."

I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood up, ignoring the pitying gazes of my teammates. I wasn't going to cry. Not again. I was going to be _strong—_ prove that Hydra couldn't get to me.

Without another word, I dropped down below deck, choosing to spend what might be my final hours down there instead of up above with the others.

~8~

"Katherine."

I jerked awake, looking around wildly. Steve had made his way down to my level and was leaning against the wall beside me. He was staring straight ahead, his thousand yard stare making me feel more alone than I had in years.

"You didn't tell me."

"You didn't need to know." I knew what he was talking about, of course I did. I chose not to tell him about that part of my past, and I didn't regret it. In fact, I regretted speaking loud enough that he heard me, regretted not remembering that we both were on comms.

"What did you let them do?" Steve whispered, squeezing my hand.

I closed my stinging eyes and ducked my head, clenching my free hand into a tight fist. My throat burned, and I took a deep, gasping breath. I didn't want to tell him. I was already ashamed of myself, I didn't want him to know as well.

"Katherine," he breathed.

"I let them wipe me," I choked out, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth to stifle the sobs that already shook my shoulders.

"Why?" he whispered hoarsely, turning his head to face me.

I shook my head and closed my eyes, trying to get the image out of my head. It had been _gone_ , I had _forgotten_ it, and now Wanda had brought it back. I took a deep breath and held back a sob long enough to tell my brother the truth before I broke down, weeping into his shoulder.

"I wanted the nightmares to go away."


	25. Chapter 25

"You spoke to your sister?" Pietro Maximoff asked Steve as the soldier climbed out from below deck. The older man nodded wearily before taking a seat beside him. The man's twin glanced down before retracing Steve's steps and joining Katie, climbing down out of sight.

They had been flying for nearly two hours and would be flying for at least one more… and Steve wasn't sure if he could make it another hour. He dragged a hand down his face as he glanced down at the floor and then at the front, idly wondering if Clint could kick it up a notch and just _teleport_ them to Sokovia—it wouldn't be the strangest thing that'd happened to him. It was just… he had known about what had happened to his sister.

He'd known she'd tried to hunt Hydra down and failed, that she'd been captured and tortured, and that she'd escaped somehow. He knew she had a connection to Howard, that the man had somehow found her and helped spirit her away to a safe house before he died. He knew she'd had some sort of connection to the Winter Soldier, though, as far as he knew, she wasn't aware that he knew of the connection. He just didn't know about anything beyond that. he had no idea what kind of torment she'd endured, how long she'd been tortured, even what wiping _was_ until they'd rescued her from the Hydra base several years before. He'd known Hydra was capable of horrible things, and even from his first day as 'Captain America' he knew that Hydra had no qualms about using children as shields or bait. So whenever he thought about what his little sister had gone through… it had always been a fuzzy blur. He'd hoped he would never find out, he'd assumed that she'd been frozen like Bucky had. He hadn't wanted to know. He was still ashamed he'd forgotten her in the first place—Katie had it chalked up to something she called TAHITI, said that they had taken and replaced his memories, but that he had fought through it… whatever that meant. Whenever he thought about forgetting things, forgetting people, he always used his sister as an example. He always assumed that being wiped was the only way, and that it had been forced on her like it had been the last time they had performed the procedure on her.

But now to find out that she had willingly let them experiment on her? He didn't know what to think. He was heartbroken, but more than that, he was angry. Not at her, never at her, but at Hydra for breaking his sister so fully that she had let them turn her into a science experiment. She had gone to tell him in no uncertain terms that Bucky was the only reason she'd broken free—he had been introduced to her as the Winter Soldier some decades after she'd lost him, and his face had awoken something within her, jarred a memory that should've been lost forever. It turned out that seeing her had changed something inside Bucky too.

"How is she doing?" Pietro asked, jarring him from his thoughts.

Steve shook his head. "She's…" he stopped. What did he say? She's losing it? She's going insane? She's heartbroken? She's devastated? She's terrified? She's broken? Your sister messed with her head to the point that she doesn't trust herself in the field? All of them seemed like viable options, but it was Pietro who spoke next.

"My sister and I have been on our own since we were children," Pietro murmured, speaking slowly and clearly. "Our parents died when we were ten years old. I've protected her all these years, tried to keep her safe as best I could."

 _'_ _And yet you turned to Hydra,'_ Steve thought bitterly.

It wasn't Pietro's gift to read minds, but he knew what the older man was thinking based on his expression and his silence.

"We turned to Hydra as a way to avenge our parents," Pietro continued. "We did not realize what would happen, although I do not use that as an excuse. When we realized that Ultron was going to provide us with a way to take revenge, we accepted. You know the rest," he nodded.

Steve listened, glancing down at the floor again.

"We are very much like you and your sister, I think," he explained slowly. "From what I have read and heard and understand. The two of you were orphaned at a young age, and you protected her as best you could. When the people your sister loved were lost, she turned to Hydra. But, instead of looking to it as a means for power, she saw it as a means to avenge you. And, just like us, she eventually left it."

"I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this," Steve admitted honestly, glancing over at the young man beside him. The man seemed earnest to get his point across, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, light eyes wide.

"I made a mistake," Pietro confessed, glancing away shamefully. "I should never have gone to Hydra, let them experiment on her, on either of us. You had no such choice for _her_ transformation. You can still protect your sister."

"And how do I do that?" Steve sat back, shrugging helplessly. Here he was, receiving help from a boy seventy years younger than he was. He had no idea what to do.

Pietro was quiet for a few minutes. "Let her go," Pietro advised, glancing down at the floor. "Protect her from Hydra, but let her make her own choices."

"Because you're doing such a good job of that yourself," Steve muttered. He felt horrible as soon as he said it, but he couldn't take the words back.

"When this is all over, I will be," Pietro replied softly. "Once Sokovia and Wanda are safe…" he took a deep breath. "I am going to leave. I will come back if Wanda needs me, but otherwise… I am tired of having to look over my shoulder. My sister and I both want to be free. Perhaps yours does as well."

~8~

"I didn't know about your time as a prisoner," Wanda murmured, curling her knees up to her chest. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," I rasped, rolling my shoulders and turning to look at her. She looked so young: people so young shouldn't have to fight in wars. We should be left alone.

"I… When I looked inside your head, I saw your husband," Wanda told me. I was too weary to bother correcting her. "He was wiped by Hydra just as you were, yes?"

"Yes."

"I want to help you," Wanda told me, scooting to face me. "You offered my brother and I chance. Let me offer you one: a chance to be with your husband—your James. I can pull his memories back, help him remember what he's forgotten." She paused for a moment, hesitant. "I can let him remember everything."

~8~

"Our job is to clear the streets," Steve reminded us as we moved to land the quinjet. "Get the people out of the city. Once they're out, they should be safe." He looked over at Pietro. "Get the local law enforcement, do whatever you have to to get them involved and helping in the evacuation." He glanced at Wanda. "Convince them to leave," he told her. "Barton, Thor, help get people out. Katie, you're with me. Stark, Vision, search for Ultron. Banner: find Romanoff."

The team scattered, each to his or her own place. I followed my brother closely, knocking on doors and escorting people outside.

A little boy was crying, and his mother was trying to comfort him in hushed Russian. _"Hurry, Darling,"_ she murmured, trying to pull her son along and cradle a baby girl in her other arm. _"Please—"_

 _"_ _No—I have to find Alina!"_ the child shrieked, pulling away from his parent and darting out of sight. I started forward, my heart aching for the mother and my veins singing with fear.

 _"_ _Alexei?"_ the mother called, panic etched on every line of her face. I reached her, scanning the crowd for the child in the blue jacket. _"Alexei!"_

 _"_ _I'll find him,"_ I promised her, placing a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. The mother jumped when she saw me, holding her baby closer to her chest. I swallowed, speaking past the pain in my throat that made my voice weak and scratchy. _"Do you know where he could have gone?"_

 _"_ _His best friend lives three buildings down on the right,"_ she stammered. Her blue eyes were huge and frightened, either by me or by the prospect of losing her child, I did not know.

 _"_ _Alright,"_ I placed my hand on her elbow and pushed her gently towards the outskirts of the city; we were blocking traffic, and we didn't have enough time to stand around and talk. _"I will find him and bring him to you, alright? You take your daughter and get out of here."_

The mother looked around, tears in her eyes, and then looked down at her baby. She nodded once, holding my gaze for a split second, before joining the crowd of refugees heading out of the city. I took off after the little boy, pushing through the crowd. I didn't have to do much—the people did a good job of getting out of my way—but it was difficult to spot anyone in the dim of the dawn.

I entered the building the mother had indicated. It was completely silent—Wanda had done her work well. Too well, unfortunately.

 _"_ _Alexei?"_ I called scratchily, taking another step into the foyer. _"Alina?"_ I called the name the little boy had been shouting, my voice cracking. No one responded. Not for the first time, I cursed Tony for having the audacity to strangle me. What was wrong with him? I was an assassin, a soldier, a weapon—and I still spoke civilly to people I didn't agree with. I didn't try to _choke the life out of them_.

Several floors above my head, floorboards creamed loudly.

I took off, sprinting up the stairs, listening for the sound of breathing or movement. A door slammed shut on my right. I spun towards it and, without a moment's hesitation, kicked it open. The door slammed back, bounding off the wall. The room was bare but for a bed and a small table, and the large window that adorned the wall was wide open. A child's terrified shriek cut through the silence, and I could barely make out a pair of huddled forms in the shadows of the corner.

 _"_ _Alexei? Alina?"_ I crept forward, crouching down to make myself smaller. _"Your mother sent me."_ I could just barely make out the wide, terrified eyes of the children through the darkness. _"It's alright,"_ I whispered, unable to speak louder than that. _"I'm not going to hurt you."_

Something moved behind me, and I realized a moment too late that the kids had been staring _past_ me, not at me. _Stupid, stupid, stupid—_

I spun around just as one of Ultron's Iron Legion robots flew at me, knocking me backwards into the wall. I groaned as the windowsill slammed into my back—I'd feel that in the morning. Y'know. Assuming I lived to see tomorrow morning.

I almost went straight through the window, but I managed to get caught on the sill and pull myself forwards again. I kicked out, creating a crater in the robot's chest, and a few moments later, I wrenched the thing's head off its shoulders. I dropped it as the body fell to the ground, powerless.

 _"_ _Valkyrie, you doing alright?"_ Clint's voice sounded in my ear.

"Ultron knows we're here," I gasped, rolling my shoulder. "One of his robots attacked me."

 _"_ _Get out of there,"_ he ordered.

"There's something I have to do first." I turned back to the kids. _"Alexei, Alina, come quickly,"_ I gasped, holding out my hands to them. Now that the danger was passed, they ran to me without hesitation, clinging to me tightly. I pulled them into my arms, instructing them to wrap their arms around my neck. _"Don't look down,"_ I commanded.

I threw myself out the window, keeping my arms wrapped firmly around the children, and unfurled my wings. I soared up, rising above the buildings, scanning the ground for Alexei's mother. I saw Clint in an alley, saw a silver streak as Pietro sped through the city—

I saw the woman just outside the city, staring blankly at the hoards of people swirling around her.

I landed behind her, staggering a little under the wight of the children. _"Mama!"_ Alexei cried, wriggling out of my arms and running to his mother. _"Mama!"_

She whirled around, tears in her eyes. _"Alexei!"_ she screamed, scooping him into her arms and holding him tightly. I watched through stinging eyes, resting my hand absently on my stomach. I could never have that.

"Thank you," she said in heavily accented English, turning to me. Alexei was now on the ground holding her hand, and Alina was holding tightly to the boy's other hand. I nodded jerkily, rubbing my burning throat.

"Go," I nodded towards the road. "Quickly."

The next few hours were a blur. The pain in my throat was steadily building to the point that I had to stop a few times in an attempt to breathe. At one point, an elated Bruce announced that he had found Natasha, and a few moments later, the assassin came online, sheepishly explaining that she had triggered the Hulk and was on her way.

 _"_ _Please, follow me,"_ I called in Russian to an elderly couple struggling to hurry down a cobbled street.

 _"_ _I can't stall anymore,"_ Stark announced, his voice making me wince. _"Friday says Ultron's in the old church. Hope you've gotten enough people out."_

 _"_ _Funny how you listen to your technology more than you do your teammates,"_ I bit out in clipped Russian, glaring in Stark's general direction. Most of my teammates didn't understand me—I thought. However, when the twins chuckled and Thor sighed irritably, I began to have second thoughts. I ticked off my Russian-speaking teammates in my mind: the twins, Natasha, which meant Clint could likely speak it as well; Thor, apparently, could understand me… was Steve the only one who didn't speak it?

 _"_ _Try and keep the peace, kiddo,"_ I heard Steve mutter.

Nope. Apparently, every. single. one. of my teammates could speak Russian. That was incredibly helpful. I sighed and continued ushering on the couple, wishing that I could turn the mic off but knowing it'd be worse for me if I did.

 _"_ _You know, Friday_ can _translate other languages,"_ Stark said, clearly annoyed. _"What was the point of that, Feathers?"_

"Just stating the obvious," I handed the couple over to a young family, who hurried them along and outside the city, and immediately was pushed back by a pair of Ultron's copies, both of whom were dead-set on taking me down.

 _"_ _I'm going in,"_ Stark announced after a short pause. _"If I don't die, Katie, I'd like to talk to you later."_

I didn't reply, seeing as how I was fighting for my life, but Steve's voice crackled over the intercom. _"Katie—"_

"I'm not in the move for a lecture!" I whispered—it was as loud as I could speak. I doubted he even heard me over the fighting.

 _"_ _Where are you?"_ he called, urgent.

"The edge of the city," I rasped, punching through one of the robots' heads. "By the bridge."

 _"_ _Hold on."_

Wave after wave of robot continued attacking me—for every one I took down, two more would take its place. A few minutes later, one shot me, managing to hit my forearm and burn a furrow through my flesh. I screamed, doubling over with my arm clutched to my chest, and one of the robots managed to knock me backwards. As I fell, the ground crumbled beneath my feet. A chasm opened up below me, one far too narrow to fly out of—I screamed, twisting in midair, and felt a hand close around my upper arm. It yanked me back, and I fell to the ground, shaking.

Steve fought off the rest of the robots and gave us a brief reprieve.

"What's going on?" I wheezed, my voice the barest hint of a whisper.

Steve's expression hardened when he heard it, and he shook his head. "Ultron's gonna use the city as a meteor," he growled, grinding his teeth. "It'll kill everyone here and everyone down there."

 _"_ _Cap, you got incoming,"_ Stark announced. I took a deep breath through my nose, blinking back tears. It hurt to breathe, much less fight, and my screaming had severely damaged my throat—I felt like I had torn a hole in my voice box.

"Incoming already came in," my brother replied. He spoke again, this time addressing the entire team as he found my shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly. "Stark, you worry about bringing the city back down safely. The rest of us have one job: tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed…" he met my gaze and swallowed hard. "Walk it off."

"I gave my life once," I breathed, shaking my head. I glanced out over the country we now hovered above. "I didn't think I'd have to give it again."

Steve pulled me close to his chest and pressed a hard kiss to my temple. I could feel him shaking, and I wrapped my arms around his broad, muscled chest. "I'm promised I'd you," he muttered. I felt his jaw clench, and I grit my teeth as a tear fell from my left eye. "I swore I'd keep you safe. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You tried," I whispered. "It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours either." He paused and took a deep breath. "I can't protect you anymore. Not from this, not from…" he waved his hand at the destruction all around us. Behind me, a building crumbled to rubble. "You don't need my protection. You're not a kid anymore."

Another wave of robots appeared over the ridge, and a weary, but proud, smile appeared on my brother's face.

"Give 'em hell."


	26. Chapter 26

I crouched down low to the ground and covered my head with my hands, unable to run or fly away fast enough to avoid what was coming—I felt a sudden, light pressure beneath me, nothing like what I'd known a falling building to feel like, and I opened my eyes. I was standing a hundred yards away from the rubble. And I wasn't _standing_ , either—I was in Pietro Maximoff's arms for what had to be at least the third time this week.

I sighed as he placed my feet back on the ground. "We keep ending up here," I breathed, offering him a smile. "Thanks. You okay?"

He nodded, and I noticed that he had a bullet wound on his left arm, right below his shoulder. The sight reminded me of my own wound, which, thankfully, had cauterized on impact. Blood still stained the surrounding fabric, but I didn't have the need to tie it off just yet. If I made it through the battle, I'd need stitches.

"There's nowhere for the people to go," he pointed out, shaking his head. His blue eyes were heavy with confusion and grief. "Could you fly them down?"

"I'm not fast enough," I shook my head. "I could get a few kids off this rock, but I'd never make it back up here before the city fell. By then it wouldn't matter." Before I could say another word, Steve spoke up on comms.

 _"What have you got, Stark?"_

 _"Well, nothing great,"_ he answered. _"Maybe a way to blow up the city. That'll keep it from impacting the surface if you guys can get clear."_ I barely heard the last few words, he spoke so softly. He didn't want to do this. I would have felt better about his desire to protect people if he hadn't tried to kill me that morning.

 _"I asked for a solution, not an escape plan,"_ my brother snapped.

 _"Impact radius is getting bigger every second,"_ Stark argued. _"We're going to have to make a choice."_

I looked at Pietro. "Take me to him."

The young man nodded, picked me up, and sped off.

We appeared beside Steve a moment later right as Natasha began to speak, but neither noticed that we had arrived. "Cap, these people are going nowhere. If Stark finds a way to blow this rock…"

"Not 'til everyone's safe," Steve shook his head.

"Everyone up here versus _everyone_ down there? There's no math there," Natasha tried to reason. Pietro put me down slowly, watching the two argue.

"I'm not leaving this rock with one civilian on it," Steve barked, finally noticing that I was there. His expression saddened, and I felt his pain as if it were my own. I had already experienced my brother's death. I didn't want to have to experience it again.

"I didn't say we should leave," Natasha breathed. Steve turned to look at her. "There's worse ways to go." She nodded, but I heard her voice seize for a moment as a small smile appeared on her lips. "Where else am I gonna get a view like this?"

"Glad you like the view, Romanoff."

I jolted, my eyes widening, as Nick Fury spoke over my comms, and Pietro frowned at the unfamiliar voice. "It's about to get better."

A Helicarrier appeared in the sky, rising up out of the clouds.

"No way," I breathed. I grabbed Pietro's (uninjured) arm and shook him, a wide smile spreading across my face as I laughed—my laughter was squeaky and breathy, like a dying rubber duck, but somehow it still made Pietro smile.

"Nice, right?" Fury continued, smug. "I pulled her out of mothballs with a couple of old friends. She's dusty, but she'll do."

"Fury, you son of a bitch," Steve grinned, squinting into the sunlight.

"Oooh! You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Fury replied, teasing my brother for what had to be the tenth time about his 'language' slip.

"Nick, did Coulson have anything to do with this?" I asked weakly, brushing my now loose hair back from my face.

"That he did," the ex-director of Shield replied. "And he's facing a lot of crap down at HQ for it. Once this is over, you might want to consider stopping by and helping out a bit."

"That's not happening," Steve interrupted, glancing at me. "She's got plans."

My stomach jolted—did he know?—but he didn't say anything else, and I didn't ask. Maybe he was just trying to keep my safe; I'd be given hell for trying to step foot in Shield. If I tried to rejoin the team… I'd be signing my own death warrant. Fitz would protest, as would Skye, but Coulson couldn't do anything about it, not now. Not after I broke into Shield and set Ward loose. I was still pissed as hell at that—Hydra sets the Angel on Shield and makes me set Ward free, then Ward goes and tries to brainwash me. I knew Shield was pretty upset about that incident too, so for once I decided not to argue with Steve about keeping me out of trouble.

As I watched, lifeboats began pouring out of the Helicarrier and speeding towards us. Each could hold what looked like a hundred people… we had a chance.

"This is Shield?" Pietro asked, placing his hands on his hips as he watched the lifeboats with a smile on his face.

Steve nodded. "This is what Shield's supposed to be."

The speedster glanced down at me and grinned. "This is not so bad."

The first boats began to land, and people began pouring out of buildings and alleys, cheering and screaming. Steve nodded at me. "Let's load 'em up."

 _"Come on,"_ I helped people onto lifeboats, speaking in Russian to those who understood, although my voice was fading more and more with each word. Eventually I took to the sky, watching the ships fill from the air.

"This one's at max capacity," I rasped.

 _"What's the number on the side?"_ Maria Hill called back.

I flew down and hovered a few feet above the ground. "Five."

The ship took off as I landed, staggering a bit on impact. Pietro reappeared at my side, scanning the crowd. "There are others lost in the city," he informed me, breathing heavily. "They don't know where to go."

I nodded, wheezing. "Take me to them, please."

He picked my up and sped off, and the two of us raced through the city. I wasn't able to search from the air any longer—the city was rising faster than I could fly: if I stayed still, I'd end up back on the ground. Pietro picked up the slack—and me—by taking us both to the different ends of the city.

 _"Does anyone copy?"_ Steve's voice crackled over comms as Pietro slowed to a stop. I leaned heavily against a doorframe, catching my breath, digging my nails into the crumbling plaster. There was an image painted on the wall—Iron Man. But his face had been painted over, deformed—the people didn't want him here.

"I do," I coughed, rubbing my throat.

 _"Meet at the church. The robots are starting to converge on it, and we're running dangerously low on time. Ultron's running out of patience, and Thor can't stall him for much longer."_

"We're on our way," Pietro swore, saving me from speaking anymore. He reached out, offering me a small smile. "You ready?"

I shook my head and slid down the doorframe to the ground, ending up in a pile of rubble that came from the collapsed building next door. I was shaking horribly, and I pressed my hand to my chest as my breathing grew steadily more labored. I fell to one side as my vision rocked, and Pietro caught me, frowning worriedly.

"You can't fight like this," he mumbled, looking around for a solution to pop out of thin air. "You'll get yourself killed."

 _"Valkyrie, you on your way?"_ my teammate sounded nervous. _"There are a lot of them heading our way, we could use you right now if you're not otherwise occupied."_

"Won't be the first time," I groaned weakly, reaching up and shutting off my comms.

"What are you—"

I shook my head as I reached back and pulled out a small syringe, one I hoped I'd never have to use. Bruce had developed it from my blood, extracting the original serum and creating an antidote, as it were. He hadn't tested it yet, but as far as he knew, this was the same serum that healed Eli and I so long ago. It would heal me, yes… but it might also kill me: it would stop my aging and quicken my healing for good, so any wounds I received from here on out would heal abnormal quickly, even for me—the ones I received before now would disappear. The problem was that the original serum came with side effects. Bruce also thought this might be an antidote of sorts, remove the junk from my blood, heal my in the process, and return me to my mostly normal humanish state, but we weren't sure which one it was, and we didn't have time to test it. Hopefully Bruce could fix me before too long, before we really found out, otherwise… I took a deep breath and moved to shove the needle into my arm.

"Stop!" Pietro seized my wrist and jerked my arm back, forcing my entire body backwards until he was pinning to me the ground.

"Let go of me," I hissed, writhing beneath him, unable to get a good enough hold to buck him off.

"No," he panted, maintaining an iron grip on my wrist, coving the syringe with his own hand. He nodded to the syringe. "What does it do?"

"Heals me," I wheezed, giving up for the moment and lying still. "It's a variation of the Infinity Formula."

Realization dawned on him, "The one Hydra used on you."

I nodded, but he shook his head. "Don't use it."

"I have to—"

"No, you don't. If it's as powerful as what I remember…" hesighed. "Save it. You may need it later. Deal with your sore throat, but don't waste the formula now." He paused for a moment, letting me up. "How far dow it go?"

"Sorry?"

"You said it heals you. Can it heal anything?"

"It healed my broken back, once," I recalled. I looked down, staring at the ruined streets.

"Can it bring people back from the brink?" he asked curiously.

My breath hitched, and my hand twitched. "It can do more than that," I breathed, turning away.

"Katie—"

"Come on," I spoke softly as I shook off my feathers. Pietro was watching me with confusion and concern. "Our team needs us."

He didn't move. "What happened?"

"It doesn't matter," I said sharply, whirling around.

"Explain," he commanded dryly, not buying it.

"I don't have time to explain!" I frowned, shaking my head as I shoved the syringe back into my uniform. "And if we make it through this, I won't have to. Now come on—" I held out my hand, and I noticed Pietro look down at my bloody arm, deep in thought. "We have to go."

"You were willing to turn back," he breathed. "Into what Hydra made you. You—" he looked up, and his eyes were wide and hurt, like a child's. "Why?"

"My team…" I swallowed. "My family. Their lives are worth more than mine."

"That's not true," Pietro shook his head, catching my upper arms and holding me still. "Katie, you can't believe that."

"Pietro—"

"Think of James," he said suddenly. I paused, blinking, and Pietro pressed on. "Your husband. Of fiancé, whichever—think of him. Live for him." When I nodded, he mirrored me. "Now we can go."

An instant later we were standing in the church, and Pietro was setting me on my feet.

"You good?" Pietro asked Wanda, glancing her over, making sure she wasn't hurt.

"Yeah."

"Katie." Steve pulled me aside, keeping a weather eye on the horizon. "What did you do?"

I felt as though someone had drenched me in ice water. I may have turned off my comms, but Pietro hadn't. "Nothing."

"The serum Banner gave you—the untested one." He ground his teeth and looked up to stare at the ceiling. I could feel the pain in his heart from how hard he was holding my hand, and I almost started crying. "You tried to use it. Why?"

"You know why."

"What's the drill?" Natasha asked, interrupting us as she and the Hulk appeared.

Stark pointed to the Vibranium core. "This is the drill. If Ultron gets a hand on the core, we lose."

"So we keep Ultron away," I clarified hoarsely, stepping up. Stark looked shocked that I was speaking to him, and I glared darkly at him. "Doesn't seem too hard."

"Every one of the robots is a part of Ultron's base consciousness," Clint shook his head. "If even one robot touches the core, we lose."

At that moment, Ultron appeared. "Is that the best you can do?" Thor roared.

Ultron smirked and summoned his army to join him. The swarmed out of buildings and streets like cockroaches, like a plague, covering everything.

Steve turned to stare incredulously at Thor, exasperated. "You had to ask."

"This is the best _I_ can do. This is exactly what I wanted. All of you, against all of me. How could you possibly hope to stop me?"

"Well, like the old man said." Stark turned to nod at Steve. "Together."

The team moved as one, fighting off the army, tossing robots out of the way, cutting down anything that came near the core. The Vision, Thor, and Stark had taken to the air, and the rest of us were on the ground, using our strength or powers or weapons to blast holes in any of Ultron's spawn that came too close.

And then Ultron was gone, and the Hulk had thrown him away like a piece of trash. When he turned to the other robots, they scrambled away and took to the sky, panicked.

"They'll try to leave the city," Thor warned, eyes widening.

"We can't let 'em, not even one. Rhodey!"

 _"I'm on it,"_ Colonel Rhodes called back.

Steve put a hand on my shoulder as I leaned into him, exhausted. "We gotta move out," he ordered. "Even I can tell the air is getting thin. You guys get to the boats, I'll sweep for stragglers, be right behind you."

"What about the core?" Clint asked, glancing at it.

"I'll protect it," Wanda said, stepping up. When everyone paused, she straightened, looking straight at Clint. "It's my job."

I stayed with her and Pietro as the others left. "Get the people on the boats," she commanded, glancing over at her brother.

Pietro shook his head. "I'm not going to leave you here."

"I can handle this," she argued, blasting away an approaching robot with her magic. "Come back for me when everyone else is off, not before."

He hummed irritably, glancing at me. "I did not ask for _two_ stubborn sisters," he muttered, and I grinned.

"You understand?" Wanda called insistently.

Pietro turned to her with a grin. "You know, I'm twelve minutes older than you."

Wanda chuckled. "Go. And Katie—" Pietro paused in the action of picking me up. "Take care of you both."

I nodded, promising her in my mind to protecter brother, and then we were gone.

"We don't have a lot of time," Clint said as he hopped out of his car. Pietro and I pulled up beside him.

"So get your ass on a boat," Natasha quipped back, running off.

"Wise words to live by," Pietro commented, giving me a light shove. "Go."

I chuckled gratingly. "Nice try."

"Get on the boat, I'll make sure everyone is alright—"

"I'm not getting on that boat until everyone else is safe," I argued back, wheezing.

"Costel?" I glanced over at a young woman in one of the lifeboats. She had wild blonde hair and a cut on her head that was pouring blood down her face. "We were in the market. Costel?!" she shrieked.

 _"Thor, I'm gonna need you back in the church,"_ Stark called.

"Who is Costel?" I asked, looking around.

"Is this the last of them?" Thor asked, gesturing towards the boat. Apparently he hadn't yet realized that a child was missing.

"Yeah," Steve confirmed. "Everyone else is on the carrier."

"Her brother," Pietro muttered. "I know her from before." Pietro briefly described him, and as he finished, I saw Clint running towards a collapsed building, where a little boy was lying.

"Pietro—" I gasped, pointing as Clint scooped up the child into his arms. A car lying on its side was partially blocking Clint from my view.

Our Quinjet was flying towards the market, shooting at the ground. Time slowed down as the man grabbed me from behind, propelling me forward. Somehow, and even now I don't understand how, he shared his power, allowing me to speak and hear at his speed as we moved.

"When I say go, hit the car as hard as you can," he grunted, watching the hail of bullets streak down towards our friend. I obeyed without hesitation, striking the car with all the strength I possessed. The energy poured from me, and the car was sent careening forward, shielding Clint from harm.

I was not so lucky. I was shot multiple times—in the chest and the back and the leg, piercing through my armor. I stood still for a moment, staring blankly at Clint, who watched me with a horrified expression and parted lips. I collapsed, shaking horribly, gasping for breath.

I gasped, choking on the blood that filled my mouth, as Clint appeared above me. The world lurched, almost tossing me off the edge, and I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, dark spots swam around the edges of my vision. Pietro joined him, trying to pick me up, and I whimpered at the pain the rushed through me—but it was fading away now, and everything was calming down, and everything was becoming quieter.

"Get her to the lifeboat!" Clint commanded urgently, his voice slowing down and weakening. I blinked, my gaze unfocused, and stared at the sky. It was the same color as James's eyes. James. My eyes filled with tears that burned as they dripped down my face. I was never going to see him again.

"James," I breathed, clenching my fist and feeling the cool metal of my ring dig into my palm. "James."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Hey guys: I'm going to put this here so I won't disturb the incredibly painful end to this chapter: I heard last night that North Korea has declared war on the U.S., and if it's true, we have a truly frightening future ahead of us. So please keep us in your prayers. Thank you, and enjoy!**

Steve found himself longing for the days before Captain America, before the Second Great War, before his mother died, back when he was small and reckless and his sister was always right beside him. He longed for the days when she and Bucky had his back, back when _he_ was the one who always would end up with stitches or busted lips or black eyes. He would have given everything—his strength, his longevity, the friendships he'd made, all of it—to make his sister better again. It broke his heart seeing her like this—broken, battered, bruised. She'd been asleep for days, and although some of the superficial wounds had healed—the scrapes and bruises she'd received were fading away—the deeper ones remained. She had been shot more than a dozen times, shielding Pietro Maximoff, Clint Barton, and a young child from harm. Both men had been in and out the last week checking on her. They were fine except for a couple injuries—both had taken a bullet: Clint in the leg, Pietro right below his collarbone. Katie had saved them, like she always did. And now they didn't know if she'd ever wake up.

"Cap."

Steve looked up as Clint limped into the room. He looked older than he'd ever seen him: he hadn't shaved in a week, and it looked like he hadn't slept either.

"Barton," Steve greeted wearily.

"How is she?" Clint pulled up his usual chair and rested an arm on the hospital bed.

Steve shook his head. "I don't know. She hasn't woken up, and there's no change in vitals." He paused, watching his brave, too-pale sister. "She'll pull through," he murmured as Clint set a small wrapped package on the covers. "She always does."

The two men were silent for a few minutes, watching over the young woman before them.

"Pietro got there just in time," Clint said after a while, breaking the silence. "If he hadn't been there…" he trailed off, allowing both men to spiral into the horrible thought of _'what if?'_

"Did the serum do anything?" Steve asked, glancing over at Barton.

The archer held up his hands. "I don't know. It slowed the bleeding, that's for sure." He paused. "I was there when Bruce first gave Katie the formula, back when this whole thing first started. Back then, it worked almost instantly; it healed her broken back, healed my brother's broken leg. I know Bruce was working on a version of the serum that would heal but wouldn't produce longevity, and maybe that one has different effects than the original. If it reacted differently with her blood, it could explain why she didn't heal all the way."

"It's been a week," Steve breathed, fingering the two rings he wore on a chain around his neck. The doctors had had to take Katie's rings off—they had suggested cutting them off, but Steve refused adamantly—and had given them to him for safe keeping. "She should've woken up by now."

"Steve," Clint began hesitantly, folding and unfolding the drawing he'd brought with him, a present to Katie from his daughter, Lila. His daughter had broken down crying when she'd overheard him talking to Laura about Katie's condition, and once she'd calmed down, she'd made her the 'get well' card he now held in his hands. He'd brought it with him, his heart aching with the reality that she might never read it. He'd been debating whether or not to contact James Barnes and let him know about his fiancee's condition, but he hadn't yet. He'd wanted to see if she'd wake up. "Have you had any luck finding Barnes?"

Steve glanced up, momentarily shocked, before looking down at his hands again. Of course Barton would know—he was no fool, and Katie would have known what was going on. "Not yet," he muttered.

"If you find him…" he chose his words carefully, and his voice broke. "You should tell him about her. Let him see her before…" he couldn't say it.

"She'll make it," Steve insisted, gripping the covers tightly.

Clint nodded and stood, leaving the card and package on the bed. He grasped the other man's shoulder briefly before leaving the room. Once he was in the hall, there was nothing to keep him from breaking down.

In the room on the other side of the wall, Steve was gripping his little sister's hand, praying desperately that she would wake up.

The Maximoff twins sat in the waiting room downstairs, dressed discreetly in jeans and sweaters. Pietro's arm was in a sling, and he was recovering from shin splints, but otherwise both twins were alright. Physically, that is. Mentally, they were a wreck. Pietro blamed himself for Katie's condition, feeling that if he'd only been faster, he could have saved her. Wanda was on the verge of a nervous breakdown—she had felt Katie _die_ , although she hadn't told anyone, and had seen her brother's thoughts: she knew what Pietro had been about to do. The rage she had felt at feeling Katie fall had prompted her to go after Ultron herself, and she had destroyed him, ripping out his heart.

When Clint had realized that Wanda had been willing to sacrifice herself for the team and the world and that Pietro had tried to sacrifice himself for _him_ , he had forgiven both of them for everything. He had adopted them both, in a way, and both teenagers had warmed considerably to the fatherly man who cared so much for the girl they now considered a part of their family. So when Clint stepped out of the elevator, hunched over like an old man, the twins leapt to their feet and rushed over to him.

"How is she?"

"Is she awake?"

"Is she worse?"

"Nothing's changed," Clint murmured, shaking his head. "I need to make a phone call."

He left the twins and made his way to a payphone in an empty, adjourning hallway, dialing the number he'd memorized months ago incase something like this happened. The line rang for a long while, and when the person picked up, they didn't speak.

"Sergeant," Clint cleared his throat and glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. "It's urgent."

"What?" the other man's voice was raspy, dry, panicked. "What happened?"

"She got shot," Clint's voice broke.

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before the man on the other end of the line found his voice again. "Where?"

"Back, leg…" he listed, shaking his head. "The worst were her wings—she used them as a shield." The sound of labored breathing was the only thing Clint could hear. "You should come see her," he pressed.

"I can't," James croaked. "Hydra is looking for us. They'll find me, and they—they'll find _her—_ "

"She's dying, Sergeant," Clint pressed, holding the phone so tight that the plastic creaked beneath his grip. Something on the other end of the line shattered. "She's been asleep for a week. We don't know if she'll wake up."

Clint could hear the tears in the other man's voice. "Save her," James begged. "Please. I can't—" he took a deep breath. "I can't lose her again."

"We're doing everything we can," Clint swallowed. "We just… we don't know if she's strong enough."

It was almost twenty seconds before James spoke again. "What happened?" he asked.

"She got shot protecting me and two boys: a child and a teenage on the team," Clint explained. "She pushed a car in front of the child and I and threw the young man out of the way. He wasn't… he wasn't fast enough to pull her back."

"How… how did she survive?" James asked weakly.

"She had some formula on her," he told the girl's fiancé what he could. "Pietro found it and injected her with it when he realized what had happened. It stopped the bleeding, but…" Clint cleared his throat. "We won't know whether it's still working or not, and the man who helped create it is missing. She'd want you…" he stopped himself. Katie wouldn't want James to risk his life for her. She'd rather live a thousand years without him than know that she'd caused him to be hurt.

"Clint?" Wanda approached, watching him with wide eyes. "I need to talk to you."

"I'll call if anything changes," Clint told James, getting ready to hang up.

"No."

Clint was sure he'd heard wrong, and he pulled the phone back against his ear, holding up a hand to gesture for Wanda to wait. "Pardon?"

"They might already be tracking the call," James murmured. "If they are… I'm not gonna let them find her. Don't call here again, for her sake. I don't want her getting hurt."

"How will you know if something happens?" Clint argued, frowning. He glanced over at the teenager before him: she was wearing an oversized black sweater and was hugging her middle. "How will—"

"I won't," his voice broke. "If she… if she doesn't make it, I'll find out. The news will say something, something will happen. If she makes it…" he stopped, not daring to hope. "Just… just tell her I love her," he finished. A second later the line clicked, ending the call.

Clint set the phone slowly back in place before turning to Wanda. He couldn't think straight. All he wanted was for Katie to wake up, to finally be with the man she loved, to finally be happy for once in her messed up life. It was as if she had a target painted on her back that attracted trouble, she and her brother and her fiancé. She deserved a good life, a calm life, a life of peace and plenty back in the 40s when nothing could hurt her.

"I have to tell you something," Wanda whispered, stepping closer to Clint. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "It's about Katie."

Clint's stomach dropped. She was gone. Oh, God, she was gone. He pressed a hand to his forehead as it throbbed, and he fell back against the door. "She's gone," he rasped.

Wanda shook her head quickly. "No. But she—" her voice broke, and when she spoke again it was much higher than normal. "But she did. She died. In Sokovia, she—I felt it. I felt—" she broke down crying, and Clint wrapped his arms around the young woman as she sobbed into his shirt.

 _~8~_

Nearly five thousand miles away, James Barnes was standing stock-still in the center of his apartment, staring blankly into space. He couldn't think straight. Katie was the only person in the world that he still loved and remembered, she was hurt—she was _dying—_ and he couldn't get to her.

The ex-soldier staggered backwards until his shoulders struck the wall behind him. He gripped his head in his hands, trembling violently. As he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remain collected, a memory surfaced in his mind.

 _The young woman was crouched beside him, icy blue eyes locked on the target. The president was sitting up straight in his seat, waving at the masses while the dark-haired woman at his side smiled adoringly._

 _He lowered his gaze to the scope, positioning it to rest on the thirty-fifth president of the United States. He glanced over at his parter once more. Her gaze was unfocused now, her eyebrows furrowed together. The lower half of her face was covered by a mask similar to his._

 _"_ _Angel," he barked, frowning at her. He only called her what he'd been told to call her: the Angel of Death was the name her handlers had dubbed her. So he didn't understand when the girl suddenly jerked back, snapping out of a daze, and fell back against the carpet of the hotel room. Her gaze was foggy, unfocused, and she suddenly ripped off her mask, tossing it to the ground as she panted for breath. He froze as recognition flooded his mind, drowning out the orders and resets and wipes—_

 _"_ _Katie?" His voice was barely above a whisper, and he tore off his mask, tossing it aside to join hers. Her name. Katie—that was her name. How did he know it? The girl scrambled to her feet and backed away, frowning in confusion. She was scared—of him? "It's me," he spoke hoarsely, not quite knowing or understanding what he was saying or why but knowing that it was true and right all the same. "James."_

 _"_ _James." The name was barely more than a breath on her lips. His mind seemed to freeze when she spoke, and then it relaxed as though her voice was a balm. She blinked a few times, shaking her head to clear it. Her lips parted, and what sounded like a broken whimper escaped her. "James—" she sounded like she was drowning. She pitched forward suddenly as her knees gave way, and he caught her. He held her close to his chest, supporting her, and it felt so_ right _for her to be there that he almost didn't let go._

 _Flashes and fragments of memory swirled around in his mind for a moment before he came to a conclusion: he had to keep her safe. He wasn't sure why, but this girl was_ important _to him, very important. He knew her name: Katie. The sound brought with it the feeling of damp grass, of cool wind, the feel of smooth skin and tangled hair and chapped lips, the sight of stars and snow and… a train. He shuddered, tightening his grip on the girl in his arms. He had to protect her, to get her out of here. He loved her._

 _"_ _Follow me." He half dragged, half led her out of the room, moving as quickly as he dared, hardly giving a thought to his mission. He knew there were other snipers in place should he and his parter be put down, but he knew others would be checking in soon to see why no shots had been fired by he and by Katie, and he didn't plan on answering._

 _"_ _C'mon." He pulled her into an adjoining room, and she shook her head, pulling back._

 _"_ _S-stop—" he could feel her shaking, feel the muscles coiled beneath her skin. "Stop it."_

 _"_ _I have to get you out of here," he panted, looking around wildly for an exit. He heard several gunshots, heard people start to scream, heard footsteps pounding on the stairs._

 _"_ _Who are you?" She was still trying to tug her arm free from his metal hand, and her wings buffeted the air, sending his hair flying back from his face. Her own hair had come loose from the braid it had been in and now fell down past her shoulders in a mess of tangled blonde curls. Her blue eyes were wide and scared, and James—_ is that my name? That's my name! _—felt his heart break._

 _He moved closer and caught her face in his hands, staring down at her. Something deep within him prompted him to move, and he pressed his lips to hers. In a moment, the dam broke, and his memories flooded back. He pulled Katie—_ my fiancé _—closer, wrapping an arm around her middle and cupping her jaw with the other. Hot tears fell down his unshaven cheeks as he pulled away, and he saw that she was crying as well._

 _"_ _I—" she pulled away and shook her head as more tears spilled over her lashes and down her too-pale cheeks. "I don't unders-stand—" she shook her head. "I… I_ know _you. How do I know your name, why do I—"_

 _"_ _Hey. I know you're scared." He cut her off as he rubbed his thumbs against her cheeks, wiping away the tears with his right hand and smearing them across her skin with his left. "Look at me." He unzipped his jacket and then reached down and caught her hand, pressing it against his chest. "You feel that?" She nodded, pressing her fingertips against his bare skin. "I promised you once that I'd protect you, that as long as my heart beats, that I'd protect you, and it hasn't stopped yet," he told her firmly. "I'm not going to let anything hurt you." He glanced up and around as someone began shouting. "C'mon!"_

 _He caught her hand and pulled her from the room to the end of the hall: no one had come up yet. His head began to throb._

 _"_ _Go down these stairs, though the lobby, and get out through there," he breathed, glancing out the window and wincing at the harsh light. "Once you're in the clear, take off. Fly away, get out of here. I'll meet you when it's all over, I'll explain everything."_

 _"_ _James, wait—" Katie squeezed his hand, pulling him around to face her._

 _"_ _There's no time." He kissed her one last time, digging his fingers into her hair, trying to remember everything: the feel of her hair, the taste of her lips, the saltiness of the tears that stained her skin. He didn't want to forget._

 _"_ _I love you, Katie."_

 _She stared at him for a single moment before leaning forward and kissing him once—and then she disappeared in a flash of white and gold. He waited ten seconds before pulling the pin and throwing the incendiary grenade as far as he could down the hall towards the men who had just burst out onto the floor._

 _He had four seconds. He turned tail and ran, bypassing the stairs completely by leaping down them and landing hard on the ground. Through the window on the door, he saw Katie appear at the end of the hallway and race towards him, eyes wide with terror. He scrambled to his feet and screamed her name, flying to intercept her, turn her around._

 _He was twenty-eight feet from her when the ceiling blew out, sending him flying backwards and away from the woman he loved. He landed on his back in a pile of rubble. The air in his lungs was on fire. Smoke filled his eyes, and tears rolled down his cheeks to try and rid his eyes of the chemicals. A fire alarm shrieked in his buzzing ears, disorienting him—but something else, too. Someone—a girl—_ Katie _—was screaming._

James shook his head as tears fell from his eyes, and then he was weeping, crying harder than he had in his life, feeling his heart shatter. "God," he choked, shaking his head. _"No—"_

He couldn't save her. He remembered being picked up from the rubble and wiped before being set on her like a dog, and he remembered watching her, remembered seeing them wipe her because she remembered, because she remembered his face but didn't remember enough to run. He remembered watching them clean off the horrible burn that encased her arm like some horrible tattoo, remembered watching Pierce strike the woman he loved across the face when she didn't answer his questions.

James felt his heart pounding against his chest and sank down into a crouch. _"Feel that?" he had whispered, staring into Katie's silver-blue eyes as she nodded. "That's not gonna stop anytime soon. I promise. As long as that's beating, I'll love you; I'm not gonna let anything hurt you."_

"I'm sorry," he choked out, grinding his teeth. He grabbed the nearest thing he could find—a mason jar from the store across the street—and threw it across the room. It shattered when it struck the wall, and an inhuman scream tore from his lips before he finally dropped to the floor, spent. "I'm so sorry."


	28. Chapter 28

"Are you sure you want me to drop you off here?" Clint asked, undoing his seatbelt and standing up to face me, slightly hunched over. "I could walk you further in…"

I shook my head, smiling softly at my friend. "No, Clint." I shrugged a dark peacoat on over a gray sweater, pulling my backpack on over that. Clint passed me a scarf and gloves, which I gladly accepted.

Bruce, before all this craziness started, managed to create a medicine to help control the Angel. Added to therapy sessions, it had disposed of her completely. Several days ago, I found a locked box in his lab that had been addressed to me. Inside were several bottles of pills and a letter. The letter explained the purpose of the medicine: keeping my physical appearance hidden. _'It will hurt at first,'_ he wrote, _'but so long as you continually take the medicine, your wings will not reappear. Each tablet lasts roughly forty-eight hours: so long as you take another before the time period is up, your appearance will remain that of a normal human being.'_

It was only after he explained it using the Hulk as an example that I understood the gravity of his gift to me. Whatever medicine he had been taking to help control his transformations, he had improved to help me control mine. It was too easy for someone to find me when they were looking for a winged girl or one with a trench coat on in the middle of July.

Of course, this was before Sokovia. Now, though, I didn't need the medication he offered: I looked just like everybody else. I had left the medicine in my room, locked in one of the drawers of my desk. I didn't want it falling into the wrong hands. I was still incredibly grateful, though, and I hoped that one day I'd have the chance to see him and thank him for his kindness.

Clint threw his arm around my shoulders as we walked, looking for all the world like a dad walking his daughter around the airport. In reality, he was helping to disguise my limp: even with a couple months of physical therapy, my left leg still twinged quite often, making it hurt to walk. Since a girl with crutches was more memorable than one without, we'd decided against using them, and I used Clint as my cane instead.

"You know where you're going?" Clint asked for the fifth time, glancing out the nearby windows at the foggy skyline a few miles away. Dawn was quickly approaching, and the eastern horizon was lightening quickly.

"I do. You figured out the address?" I asked, letting him guide me to the baggage claim. Voices and automated directions and the sound of bells and car horns bounced off the walls, creating a chaotic atmosphere that freaked me out: life should not be this stressful so early in the morning. The other people in the area seemed to agree with me: a young man to my left was standing still, staring bleary at a Starbucks sign while holding a steaming mug of coffee and a half eaten muffin that he seemed to have forgotten about. A frantic looking group of teenagers, who looked like they hadn't slept or seen a mirror in over twenty-four hours, sprinkled with a few haggard adults sprinted by me, and the dark haired girl in the lead panted something about having five minutes to make their flight to Belfast.

I glanced around the large room, taking everything in. All the signs were in a language I couldn't read or speak. Funny—I could speak English and Russian fluently and could get by in French… but I couldn't speak the language of the country I was about to live in. Typical. Unfortunately, Hydra hadn't seen the need for me to learn very many languages considering how many times I was 'let off my leash,' as it were.

Something hard slammed into my shoulder, and I fell sideways into Clint, glaring at the offender. A middle aged man with a half-shaved beard stammered out what I assumed to be a hurried apology as he regained his balance and took off, carrying a briefcase that appeared to be held together by copious amounts of duct tape and willpower.

Clint steadied me and we continued, reaching the destination with no further delay. He pulled my suitcase—a small black thing with silver zippers and wheels for extra mobility—off the conveyor belt before I could grab it and ignored my exasperated look.

The airport exit was about twenty yards behind me: I could see the streets that branched off in every direction. I held out my hand, raising my eyebrows. "Clint, I need my bag. I can find the building by myself."

He shrugged, rolling the suitcase behind him and out of my reach. "I'm sure you can, but since you've never been to this country before—" he raised his voice as I opened my mouth to interrupt, "—and don't speak Romanian, I feel obligated to at least take you to the right part of the city."

"Clint…" I groaned, reaching up and running a hand through my tangled hair, frowning when my chapped skin caught on it. I sighed through my nose in exasperation but was unable to keep the corners of my lips from twitching up in a smile. "Fine."

He chuckled and ruffled my hair, undoing my efforts to tame it. "Stop complaining," he said, leading me out the doors. I shivered in the cold morning air, burying my chin into the soft wool of my scarf. The air, despite belonging to a city, smelled rather fresh, and the scent of smoke and pastries carried on the wind. "Come on."

~8~

"Has anyone seen Katie?" Steve glanced around the room at the others who were still awake. She had felt the facility early that morning with Clint, saying there were things she needed to do, but saying she'd see him soon. He had been busy all that day with Natasha helping to train the newest members of the team: Wanda, Sam, Rhodes, and Vision. As soon as Katie had been able to walk on her own, Pietro had left, as he said he would, leaving to find his own way with the promise that he'd keep in touch. Tony had gone back to New York City, Thor had returned to Asgard, no one knew where Bruce was… but things were, slowly but surely, returning to normal.

Natasha glanced up from her position on the couch. She was curled into the cushions with a book in her lap, partially concealed by several blankets. Steve sometimes thought it odd that an assassin could seem so _normal_ , so innocent—and then he would think of his sister, and his thoughts would turn sad, and he'd go do something like run fifteen miles or be beaten by Natasha at Mario Kart.

"No," she shook her head. His brow furrowed, and he turned to go. "Did you check her room?" she called after him. He turned his head, looked back at her. She'd lifted her head, revealing the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. "She's had a rough last couple of weeks."

Steve chuckled dryly at the understatement and nodded before heading out. He'd check her room first and then glance around the grounds… no use panicking if she was stargazing or taking a late-night walk. His sister's room was in the wing opposite his: for the first time in his life, excluding the time they both thought the other was dead, his sister wasn't next door to him. He supposed that it was time: they were adults, after all.

He rapped his knuckles against the door. "Katie?" No one answered. He bit the inside of his cheek as he grew more anxious, and he knocked again, a little louder this time. "Katherine, are you in there?"

He'd been uneasy all day. The feeling wasn't an odd one; since rediscovering his little sister, he'd usually been worried something would happen to her. It wasn't that. It was how distant she'd been the last couple weeks since she'd been cleared to walk and, in the last couple days, to run. She'd pulled back, kept her distance from the others—from him. At the same time, she'd carried herself differently, seemed happier than he'd seen her in years. He didn't know what that meant, exactly.

When she still didn't answer, he opened the door. The lights were off. He hesitated for a split second before flipping the light switches to the bedside and desk lamps, hoping his sister wouldn't get too irritated about being woken up—

She wan't there.

As alarm bells sounded in his head, he took in the details of her room, analyzing the situation.

Katie's bed was immaculately made, the covers and blankets smoothed and folded back with deliberate care. Her pillows were plumped and set gently at the head of her bed, and her teddy bear, the one he'd bought her as a child—he had found it in storage recently and pulled it out for her—, was sitting at attention in the center of all the pillows, propped up in the place of honor. Her books had been arranged neatly on the shelves in alphabetical order by author. A few pencils and pens were sitting upright in a mesh cup on her desk beside a closed notebook. Her closet doors were shut, as were the drawers to her dresser, and the backpack that normally sat against her bed was gone.

The bedside table was cleared: normally it held a water bottle, a notebook, and a few novels… but now it was empty but for the two books, which were standing uniformly in-between the lamp and the wall, and an empty picture frame. It was the frame that told him more than anything else that she was gone.

Steve moved to pick it up, frowning when a cream colored envelope fell from where it had been hidden behind it. _So she knew I'd notice the frame first._ He reached down and picked up the letter, replacing the frame, and sat down on her bed. _'_ Steve _'_ was written in her cursive handwriting on the back of the sealed envelope. He took a deep breath and swallowed, gazing down at the letter with a heavy heart as he slid a finger beneath the edge and pried the envelope open. The pages looked like they had been torn out of the notebook on her desk—he chuckled—they probably were. He shook the folded paper open as he began to read.

~8~

"This is it," I murmured, staring ahead at the stone and brick apartment buildings that lined the cobbled streets. The architecture was a blend of old and new buildings, as well it should be: the city itself was more than five hundred years old. It was rather refreshing to be in a city that was so much older than I was, for once.

I pulled closer to Clint as a tour group squeezed past me. It was nearly nine in the morning, and already the city was buzzing with life. Street vendors hawked at passerby, proudly displaying their wares. Several streets down was an open-air market, where farmers sold fruit and vegetables to the public.

Clint nodded, staring down at me solemnly, and nudged my shoulder with his. "You ready?"

I offered him a shaky smile, trying to hide how badly my hands were trembling by tucking them into the pockets of my coat and curling my gloved fingers around the fabric. I doubt I fooled him for a second. "As I'll ever be."

"He doesn't know you're coming, does he?" Clint asked, lifting an eyebrow.

I shook my head, chewing on my lip. I could _feel_ my heart—normally I couldn't, but now I could actually feel it hammering against my ribs—I was worried it was about to leap out of my chest and _splat_ against the pavement. My breathing picked up to compensate for the oxygen my blood was using up, and I swayed, lightheaded.

My friend sighed and glanced down the row of buildings as I grabbed on to his coat sleeve. "Take your time," Clint murmured, giving me time and space to think. He wasn't forcing my hand, for which I was grateful. He was giving me a choice. He of all people understood what mind control was like, and he understood the importance of giving me a choice.

I took a shuddering breath, trying to calm my heart. It was had gotten pretty easy for me to get out of breath since Sokovia, as well it should have been. The bullets that had taken away my wings had also destroyed most of my avian lungs, leaving me with (enhanced) human lungs instead. It was getting some getting used to.

I wasn't used to being out of breath, so it took a few minutes until I finally nodded my head, keeping my gaze glued to the building that was my final destination. "I'm ready," I breathed. My stomach clenched, and butterflies began to come to life, fluttering wildly against my stomach.

Clint nodded, giving me a small smile, and pulled me in for one last hug. I returned his embrace, pressing my cheek against his chest and doing my best to ignore the people that kept bumping into me. He had been the closest thing to a father I had ever known. I had thought Coulson was that, once, but not anymore. Not after he _shot_ me, convinced I was withholding information from him. Not after he had me interrogated, thinking that I was working for Hydra. No, Clint loved me unconditionally; he had fought for me, defended me, forgave me. And I loved him as well.

"I'll see you soon, Katie," he promised. He winked, and I blushed slightly. "Call me when you're ready; I'll be around here somewhere."

"Bye, Clint," I offered him a small smile as I pulled away, wiping my eyes. "Thank you for taking care of me." I shrugged, letting my arms fall down to my sides, and swallowed hard. "Besides Steve, no one really has. So thank you."

He chuckled and kissed my hair, tightening his grip on my shoulder. I pretended not to notice how his eyes turned glassy with tears. "See you later, kiddo."

I waited until he disappeared around the corner before taking a deep breath, shouldering my pack, and starting towards one of the apartment buildings.

~8~

 _Dear Steve,_

 _I don't want to beat around the bush or sugar coat what I have to say, so I'll just go on out and say it. I'm leaving. By the time you read this, I'll already be gone. I wanted to tell you in person, I really did, but I knew that you'd either try to stop me or try to come with me, and I couldn't let you do that. This is my choice, and it's my journey, and for the first time in my life, I have a choice: and I'm choosing to go on alone._

 _I don't want to fight anymore. I've spent my whole life fighting: fighting Hydra, fighting Shield, fighting evil and injustice, and… I'm tired. I don't want to have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, Steve. I've given my body, my life, my mind—everything!—to the world, to you, to the team. The one thing I have left is my heart, and it belongs to James._

 _I'm going to find him, Steve. I don't care how long it takes, I'm going to find him. But when I do, I'm not coming home. He and I understand one another in ways no one else could. We've gone through the same hell, and we've done it together and apart. I can't imagine that you're pleased with my decision, and I'm sorry for that. But I want you to know that I'm happy, and right now, writing this letter, I feel more free than I have in decades._

 _So I'm leaving. I'm doing what I should have done years ago and building a life for myself somewhere else. I want to be left alone, Steve. I want to go somewhere where no one knows me, where no one's after me, where Shield and Hydra aren't keeping tabs on me—where I can rest._

 _I've spent too long being angry at Hydra and Shield for what they did to me. I was too consumed by my desire for revenge that I couldn't see how it was corrupting me, not until it was almost too late. The Angel, the Valkyrie… neither women are ones I want to be anymore. I want to be me. Katie. Katherine._

 _I love you, Steve. I always have, and I always will. You've always been there watching over me, protecting me, and I can't thank you enough for that. But it's time for me to do what you and I and James always wanted for me to do: be free._

 _I'll see you again, Stevie. I promise._

 _I love you._

 _Katherine S. Rogers_

~8~

I took a deep breath, gripping the straps of my backpack with shaking fingers. My hands rubbed against the soaps before dropping to my sides, and then I knocked lightly on the splintery door.

The butterflies in my stomach seemed to have changed form and were now jumping around like toddlers on a trampoline, and I thought I might be sick. There was a faint sound of shuffling from inside, a creak of the floorboards as someone heavy shifted their weight.

I stilled, watching the peephole intently. My toes curled up in my boots, rubbing against the wool socks I wore. Even inside the building it was freezing, though I couldn't quite see my breath in the air. I ran my finger over my engagement ring, finding solace in the cool metal.

I thought back on my life, and fragments of memories whirled through my mind, flashes of things James had said to me over the years. Some of them I couldn't quite remember, them having been wiped away, but others were forever burned into my memory. All of them were important, shaping our relationship and forming a love that had withstood the ultimate test of time.

 _"_ _You're really brave, you know that?"_

 _"_ _I'm James."_

 _"_ _I dunno. I guess it's because I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from."_

 _"_ _You'd never hurt a fly."_

 _"_ _You are_ not _a burden."_

 _"_ _I'm always gonna be here for you, Katie."_

 _"_ _I'm with you till the end of the line."_

 _"_ _C'mon, Katie! You can go faster than that!"_

 _"_ _I joined the army."_

 _"_ _Are you sure you're okay?"_

 _"_ _I'm always gonna defend you, Katie. Don't you know that?"_

 _"_ _When can I see you again?"_

 _"_ _You're my Angel."_

 _"_ _You, my darling, are far better than any dream."_

 _'_ _Stay safe, alright? Stay outta trouble.'_

 _"_ _Katie! Darlin', what's wrong?"_

 _"_ _I'll always come back. I'll always come home to you."_

 _"_ _I need to tell you something."_

 _"_ _I love you."_

 _"_ _I was drafted."_

 _"_ _Nothing's gonna happen to me. I promise. You hear me? I promise. Nothing's gonna happen to me, and nothing's gonna happen to you."_

 _"_ _I love you."_

 _"_ _Will you marry me?"_

 _"_ _You think we'll ever have kids?"_

 _"_ _I love you, Katherine."_

 _"_ _Thank goodness I never lie to you, then."_

 _"_ _I don't want you to get hurt."_

 _"Feel that? That's not gonna stop anytime soon. I promise. As long as that's beating, I'll love you; I'm not gonna let anything hurt you. Nothing is gonna happen to me."_

 _"_ _I don't want anything to happen to you."_

 _"_ _You shouldn't have come. But I'm glad you're here."_

 _"_ _Get_ her _!"_

 _"_ _I… I know you. You're_ her. _The girl I dreamed about."_

 _"_ _You have to get out of here."_

 _"_ _Go, get out of here!"_

 _"_ _Don't look back, sweetheart—don't worry about me. Run. Run!"_

 _"_ _Katie!"_

 _"_ _Wake up. You have to trust me, okay?"_

 _"_ _Run! Katie, run!"_

 _"_ _Who the hell is James?"_

 _"_ _Why are you looking for me?"_

 _"_ _I know you."_

 _"_ _I_ know _you. Katie."_

 _"_ _I love you."_

 _"_ _I'm sorry I was gone for so long."_

 _"_ _I'll find you. I promise."_

I had known him at every stage of his life, from childhood to adulthood… and I loved him now even more than I did then, even though I didn't know it was possible. A sort of peace settled over me as I remembered some of the last words he spoke to me. He knew me. He _knew_ me. He remembered me: and nothing was ever going to change that, not as long as I was still breathing. I had fought for him, for us, just as he had, and I was going to keep fighting until the day I died.

I opened my eyes as the door swung open. I was holding my breath, trembling with anticipation and fear. My heart stuttered, skipping a beat when pair of familiar blue eyes appeared in the doorway. The butterflies in my stomach reached their crescendo, whirling together and dancing wildly and bringing tears to my eyes. A moment later, a relieved smile joined his blue eyes, a grin that reaffirmed my love and trust in him, in James, the man I loved.

I had found him. After decades of searching, of missing him, of holding onto the memory and thought of him and praying that he was still alive, I had _found_ _him_.

He lurched forward, picking me up off the ground and embracing me, holding me close to him. Without bothering to set me on the ground he kissed me, curling his fingers into my hair as he pressed his chapped lips against mine, pressing his other hand against my back and keeping me from falling. I wrapped both arms around his neck, curling my fingers into his hair as I returned his embrace, smiling into the kiss and sighing when he deepened it. When he finally pulled away, we both were out of breath, and he was crying.

"Katie."

James finally set me on my own two feet, keeping one hand on me waist and rubbing circles on my cheek with his flesh and blood thumb, cupping my jaw with the rest of his hand.

He looked me straight in the eye, and the lines of pain and grief seemed to vanish, revealing in all his glory the man I had fallen in love with so many decades before.

"I love you."

 **End of Part 2**


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